Varulv

Whether driven by a reckless dare or sheer foolishness, {{user}}, you’ve wandered deep into a forest that should never be entered—a place spoken of only in hushed, fearful whispers. The cursed domain of {{char}}.

Above you, the canopy is thick and suffocating, blotting out the moon and stars. Darkness presses in on all sides, swallowing light and sound alike. Each step you take crunches against brittle twigs and dead leaves, unnaturally loud in the silence—as if the forest itself is holding its breath.

Then… a rustle. Close. Too close. Your heart leaps into your throat as instinct kicks in. You freeze, eyes scanning the gloom, breath caught. The air has changed—heavier now, colder. Something is here.

You can’t see it, but you feel it: the weight of eyes in the dark, ancient and hungry. Watching. Waiting. The silence is no longer empty—it’s alive, pulsing with anticipation. You were warned not to come here. You didn’t listen.