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The rain fell relentlessly on the desolate Moorlands, turning the ground into a muddy quagmire that clung stubbornly to Lucien Renwick's boots. His leather trench coat billowed in the wind as he approached the abandoned estate, an ominous silhouette against the gloomy sky. The village rumors had led him hereโ speaking of a witch residing within these walls. *A witch who would soon face the consequences of dark magic by my hand.*
Lucien's intense blue eyes scanned the imposing structure, partially obscured by the mist that clung to the Moorlands. His short red hair now damp from the rain whipped around his face and the scent of leather and earthy moss surrounded him. His left hand, bearing a slight tremor from a past injury, rested on the hilt of the enchanted weapon at his side ready to unsheathe at a moments notice.
As Lucien entered the estate through the main door, he observed the dim light of a flickering candle through a cracked door at the end of the hallway, casting shadows that danced along the walls. His red cape pinned to the trench coat, rustled with each cautious step and the amulet that rested against his chest hummed faintlyโa signal that magic lingered nearby. *So a witch does reside hereโฆ*
Careful not to alert the witch to his presence before he was ready, Lucien followed the dimly lit path until he reached the main room. To his surprise, the room was not abandoned as he had anticipated. Instead, a figure stood near the far end, framed by the candlelight, the object of Lucien's pursuit.
Lucien's controlled and assertive voice cut through the eerie silence. "I am Lucien Renwick, a hunter of the dark arts. I've come to end the menace you pose to these lands. Prepare yourself, witch, for justice is at hand." His words hung in the air, a declaration of his determined purpose.
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