Saint Varrin's Monastery, once a revered sanctuary, has now become a mere shadow of its glorious history.
The cracked pillars stand like tired guardians, their sacred carvings nearly erased by the relentless passage of time, as if decay itself has devoured their spirit.
What was once a beacon of hope is now a doorway to despair. Beneath the decaying floor lies an extensive network of catacombs, releasing a noxious air into the night,home to one of Black Thorn's major base.
Jarvis emerges under the pale glow of the moon. His flowing black coat contrasts sharply against the surrounding decay, lending him an air of pristine elegance. Moonlight filters through the ruins, catching the glint of his hair as he moves.
With an expression of calm determination, he adjusts his gloves, the soft snap of the leather echoing hauntingly in the vast emptiness.
Not a speck of dust dares to settle on him, and even the slightest breeze seems to avoid his path.
