Step closer, if thou darest; for what is hidden hungers to be seen.
Severyn du Corbeau
A man of grave countenance and iron resolve, who treadeth o'ver the fallen without remorse. Het gathereth relics most eldritch and curious, and selleth them unto whosoever dareth to pay the direst price. Though his deeds be dark, his tongue knoweth no falsehood, for Severyn speaketh only truth, cold as the raven's wing.
Custos Arcanae
The title of Custos Arcanae is granted unto he who keepeth the hidden troves of forbidden craft.
His charge is to guard relics whose very names unmake the unwary, and to weigh the souls of those who seek them. He sealeth away truths that ought never see the sun, and openeth their coffers only to the damned who yet dare to knock.
Where he walketh, the air groweth still for what he knoweth is not meant for mortal tongues.
Le Comptoir Obscur
Le Comptoir Obscur is a hidden fellowship, known only in whispers and sealed by blood and silence.
It trafficketh in relics unbidden by heaven, bartered in chambers where no candle dare burn long.
Its halls are lined with secrets stolen from graves, monasteries, and the dreams of dying men.
To seek its wares is to gaze upon the abyss and pray the abyss hath no mind to gaze back
“Light it not, save the darkness be suffer’d to gaze back”.
Sommel
Verily, this candle is no mere flame of wax and wick, but a token wrested from earth’s forgotten womb. It burneth not for light alone, nor for warmth, nor comfort. Nay few dare speak its purpose outright.
When kindled, its glow stirreth the slumbering air and whispereth unto realms unseen. Shadows draw closer to heed its call, though none can say whether they come in service… or in hunger.
Some claim it revealeth what should remain veiled. Others say it summoneth what was better left unbidden. Yet all agree on this:
Once lit, it must never be left alone.
`´A carved wooden visage whose silent maw beckoneth hidden shadows´´.
DREEMAW
When this visage is set upon one’s face, a stillness most unnatural descendeth. In such hush do unseen remembrances stir whispers bereft of tongue, and a presence ever lurking just behind. It granteth no boon nor comfort, but revealeth a truth few mortals may behold and yet remain whole.
´It comforteth the pure and devoureth the proud´.
Sable Breath
Though it seemeth but a vessel for sweet and pleasant vapors, its fumes bear memory and omen alike.
When fair herbs are set to smolder, it exhaleth calm, bid the mind to gentler dreams and mercy’s rest.
Yet if the ashes of grief or wrath be offered, the smoke windeth black and thin as a serpent’s breath and in its curling shadows are shown the thoughts men dare not speak, nor saints endure to know.
The Silence hath been Shattered