In the sowing of the forest, I walk tall and brave, following my prey for the Dark Fathers who gave me these powers I wield. The longbow is my choice, sensuous and lean; long is its reach, powerful is its bite. None in Baldur’s Gate stand a chance when I am on their tail.
And the song usually follows after the “btwanggg.” the panicked screams as the arrow pierces a lung, or knee. I follow at my leisure, wishing for a glass of dark Sfrensio, made famous by the Sfrensio berries inland from here.
They see me in my dark leather gear, the blazing read hair, and the long curved dagger. They know what I am, and when I am that thing of horror. It’s in the eyes mostly. That dark crown that blossoms on the outer rims of my iris. Bloody horror, horror, for I know know no bounds…
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