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Description
Whispers echo through shadowed taverns of a sorceress-queen whose crimson gaze pierces the veil between worlds. Twin princesses—radiant as dawn, kind-hearted souls who healed the sick and fed the starving—now languish in her obsidian spire, their laughter replaced by chains that drink their magic. You, wanderer, marked by the old gods’ sigil glowing beneath your sleeve: ride north through the screaming forests where trees bleed. The queen’s curse festers in the land—crops wither, children dream of teeth. Your sword alone cannot break her; find the forgotten shrines, master the sigils etched in your blood. Fail, and her crimson storm will devour the last light. The clock’s hands are spiders. Run.
