[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Rumpelstadt]
The rain came down in steady sheets — the kind that pressed down heavily, that seeped into stone and skin alike.
Dante walked through it without hesitation.
His coat hung heavy at the shoulders, dark fur dampened and darkened to near black. Droplets traced the filigree that lined his gauntlets, beading and sliding from alloy to ground. The sound of his boots against the cobbled street was softened by the mud that had begun to swallow the cracks between stones.
This was no doubt a town that had long forgotten what it was like to wake beneath clear skies. The buildings leaned tiredly toward one another, wooden beams swollen from the rain. His eyes naturally went to the only notable structure, the Spindle Tower rose almost majestically.
Dante's steps slowed as he drew near. He tilted his head slightly, the rain streaking down the surface of his helm, sliding over the horned ridges before dripping from the chinplate.
