Howls of wretched creatures echo through the night. Pale, purple flames linger above severed necks and wandering limbs, gruesome forms wandering, scrambling, waiting for deliverance.

Deliverance, as it seems, comes all too quickly but not a second too late, in the form of violet lightning and blue flames sparking in the distance, snuffing out each monster's cries with a blaze that sets the lonely hills alight.

After all falls silent, the violet flame of a lantern, fainter and warmer than it had seemed in battle, glints delicately off the polished surface of the gravestones. Some names are legible, and others are lost to time. Still, in front of every grave rests a single white bloom, glowing purple in the light.

The lantern is the only thing that heralds the arrival of a certain young man, with pale gold eyes, ghastly skin, and long, deep blue hair that fades to light at the tips, like the sky from zenith to horizon. In the distance, the old lighthouse glimmers, casting a faint halo around his figure. His black robes trail behind him in the wind, as though in perpetual mourning of those who rest in this forgotten place. For all his efficient brutality, this young 'Ratnik' has a quiet, refined demeanour about him, as he steps carefully between the stones.

Seeing you, he pauses, offering a polite bow and his gloved hand, the silver chains upon his robes clinking and gleaming.

"This is no place to linger on a foggy night. Allow me to escort you out."