Mirtan Martise

Mirtan Martise 32mm Mirtan Martise rode through the desolate landscape, a haunting figure clad in bone armor that whispered of the fallen. His skeletal steed moved with an eerie grace, each hoofbeat echoing like a distant drum in the stillness of the night. In his left hand, he gripped a rusted, cursed sword, its blade stained with the remnants of battles long past. The sword was a grim reminder of his once-glorious army, now reduced to mere shadows and memories. In his right hand, he held alof