((Mind a little rp?))
A young woman stumbles just outside the tavern, her long corse, charcoal grey hair curtaining her face as she falls onto the nylium in exhaustion. She wore the standard witch's robes, her hat in her hand. She looked hot. Too hot.
[It's scorching out here, and no amount of sweating seems to help in the humidity of the nearby Hellwood Forest. The hot netherrack around the base of the structure is damn near searing the flesh- but nonetheless, you hear a sound like a cross between a gasp and an exhale of dying breath.]
[A large, purple figure looms over you. They sport four clawed limbs that seem to fade into and out of existence like smoke. They stare down at you with an air of menace.]
[They look you up and down, pinpricks of light in the pupils of a goop-encased skull that serves as the head. They don't look happy to see you.]
Azh: Hhhhh... hhhhhHHH...
[Then- they kneel down, take the hat from your hands and plop it onto your head, before you are promptly scooped by all four arms and fireman carried like a potato sack through the double doors of the tavern. Those hands are shockingly cold in your near heat-stroke.]
Azh: Gertie.... got another one...
