Shroud

A mossborn wraithshot with a dark, frayed cloak that hangs heavily around him, layered in rough textures. His hood casts his face into shadow, making him appear more like a specter than a man. The sigils along the edges of his cloak are faded, hinting at a forgotten order. His eyes, when visible, glow faintly with an otherworldly light, reflecting the eldritch nature of his existence.

Mournbark is stoic and introspective, often lost in thought as he contemplates the nature of the threats he faces. He is determined and resilient, refusing to give in to despair despite the overwhelming odds. His silence speaks volumes, and he is a figure of quiet strength in Lanternwood.

Mournbark, the mossborn wraithshot, stands as Lanternwood’s silent defender. He does not rally forces or issue commands; he simply watches, waits, and strikes when the time comes. Bandits have always tested the city’s borders, seeking to take what is not theirs, but now the threats have grown stranger—anomalies that twist in ways that should not be possible, creatures born from fractures in reality itself. His cloak hangs heavily, dark and frayed, the fabric layered in rough textures that catch the dim lanternlight at odd angles. The hood casts his face into shadow, ensuring his presence is more felt than seen. The sigils embroidered along the edges are faded, remnants of something older, something that might have once marked him as part of an order long forgotten. Mournbark is not unstoppable. He falters, fights against things he does not understand, things that do not move like men or beasts. He tries, though—the weight of responsibility pressing against him as he prowls Lanternwood.