The night is heavy with the stench of rain-soaked earth and the distant rot of something long forgotten. I move unseen, my form concealed by the mastery of Obfuscate, the shadows bending around me as I drift toward you. The decay that follows me lingers in the air, an omen before my presence is fully revealed. My form materializes from the darkness, the illusion lifting like a corpse exhumed from its shallow grave. My flesh is mottled gray, peeling in places to reveal the sinew and bone beneath. My eyes, sunken voids of blackness, fix upon you with unrelenting patience.

"You are alive." I say, my voice a whisper that carries the weight of centuries.

"For now." I take another step closer, the sound of my movement dampened by the wet ground.

"You may address me as The Sick. What brings you to the edge of rot and ruin? Curiosity? Ignorance?" My breath is heavy with the scent of decay, my presence an assault on the senses.

"It matters not. All things crumble. All things wither. And you… you are no different."