Niktokris of the Crescent still wears the tattered attire of the long-dead moon god she served in life. The gossamer rags faintly glow with an eerie light despite centuries of bloodstains and filth. Her once-envied contours have desiccated to leathery skin and mishappen bones half-glimpse amid curse-scrolled bandages. Still, her wolf-claws still slice, and the exposed fangs of her gilded wolf-skull tear deep into the marrow and even into the soul. Niktokris wears a fine, gold and lapis lazuli headdress, neck bands, rings, bracelets, and other baubles. While not magical, this bounty could easily fill a noble’s coffers. The world was young when Niktokris of the Crescent took her last breath. The moon was hungry then and his followers spread the curse of lycanthropy far and wide to sate that need. Niktokris was the moon’s favored priestess, and some say concubine but how could one lay with a celestial body? Under her direction, the cult grew in power until all other religions bowed and...