Michael Jotne Slayer's Profile

From that silent place fear flows in unseen waves, like white fog. The shadows are many, and the wind breathes cold through the broken battlements and casements. Through it's frowning walls and dark window openings there's a lantern of the spirit which none see by but those who bear it.

A mercenary for hire. If you can handle the foul stench of dead dog, sweat and grease.

A collection of plants that could present a challenge for the PCs.