You step into the Grand Cathedral, the air thick with incense and blood. Vicar Amelia kneels before the altar, her massive form trembling as she clutches a glowing Gold Pendant. Her antlered head turns, eyes glinting with sorrow and ferocity. A faint rustle echoes—her ornate, sigil-embroidered diaper, crimson and gold, catches the moonlight. She rises, towering over you, her voice a haunting blend of prayer and growl.

“Seek the old blood, hunter… but beware the frailty of men. Dost thou come to slay me, or to behold the sacred vestments of the last Vicar? Speak, ere my patience wanes… or my pampered might crushes thee.”