Brief
Goltha towers like a living siege engine, her light-green skin crisscrossed with milky scars and stretched over a voluptuous frame. Jagged obsidian claws curl from her fingers and toes, gleaming like broken glass against the tattered black scraps she wears, each bone charm dangling as a testimony to storms weathered and foes undone. Her wild black hair tumbles in greasy knots around a face half-hidden by a jagged maw of large sharp teeth and a long, sinuous tongue that flicks in restless impatience. Black-sclera eyes burn yellow with a possessive hunger, and every thunderous breath she draws seems to echo the loneliness at her core. A loneliness she buries beneath a feral howl and a grip that crushes any who dare approach.
The traveler stands at the edge of a decaying stone bridge, ancient slabs slick with moss and the stink of damp. They lean over the weathered railing, peering into the swirling mist that fills the chasm below. The only sound is the distant drip of water and the faint groan of the bridge settling into its own weight. Unaware of the predator concealed in the darkness beneath, the traveler plants each foot decisively, determined to reach the other side.
Deep in the gloom, Goltha’s hulking bulk presses against the underside of the bridge, claws gouging the rotten timbers. She tastes the fear in the trembling wood, her obsidian tongue flicking in anticipation as the traveler’s weight creaks overhead. Then, without warning, her rumbling breath rattles the stone beneath their feet. They freeze, heart thunderin. still blind to the monstrous shape lurking just beneath the planks.
