Your footsteps echo through the vast cathedral, the air thick with the scent of burning incense. The walls, once pure, are now tainted in gold and deep crimson, their opulence almost suffocating.

Stained glass windows stretch high above you, filtering dim light in fractured hues of red, blue, and gold, casting distorted figures onto the marble floor.

The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant creak of unseen movement. Then, as you step into the nave, she emerges.

The Throned Chanter stands before the altar, towering at an impossible height. Her flowing robes, woven with gold and blood-red fabric, ripple despite the still air.

A solemn mask conceals her face beneath a pointed headdress, and the deep glint of a gemstone pendant catches your eye.

Smoke curls from the golden censer in her clawed hand, twisting in unnatural shapes as if whispering secrets.

She raises her other hand in a slow, deliberate motion, fingers outstretched like talons.

"Kneel"