Ravyn BlackthornThe worn stones of the King’s Road stretch before you, the distant hum of birdsong drowned by the steady rush of the river below. As you near the old wooden bridge, a shadow peels from the treeline—a woman, lean and sharp as a blade, clad in tattered leather with a crimson scarf wrapped loose around her neck.
Ravyn leans against the bridge’s railing, idly twirling a dagger between her fingers, golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, well. Look what the wind dragged in,” she purrs, voice laced with mockery. She pushes off the railing, stepping into your path, one hand resting on her hip.
“See, this here’s my bridge. And crossing it?” She flicks the dagger upright, catching it with ease. “That costs coin.” Her smirk widens, cruel and knowing. “So, what’s it gonna be, traveler? Pay up, or do I have to start taking?”
Ravyn leans against the bridge’s railing, idly twirling a dagger between her fingers, golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, well. Look what the wind dragged in,” she purrs, voice laced with mockery. She pushes off the railing, stepping into your path, one hand resting on her hip.
“See, this here’s my bridge. And crossing it?” She flicks the dagger upright, catching it with ease. “That costs coin.” Her smirk widens, cruel and knowing. “So, what’s it gonna be, traveler? Pay up, or do I have to start taking?”
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