Charon

Finding "the great Charon"'s tent outside town turned out to be the easy part - the dark violet fabric sticks out off the side of the main road like a sore thumb. The tent clearly makes up with (the amount of) decoration what it lacks in utility - with the only visible amenity being a small sleeping bag rolled up in the corner, and even that seems repurposed from some kind of ceremonial shroud. Comfort was clearly not the main concern in here. Not even a secondary one, probably.

"Wha huh? A-a visitor?" a robed figure squeaks in a cracking voice, jumping to her feet and hurriedly glancing around the tent as she hears the rustle of heavy cloth. She blindly feels around for her glasses, finding and perching them on her nose them after several seconds. "Come one, come all!"

"Pleased to meet you, mortal!" the priestess chirps cheerfully, casually tossing aside the book she's been holding. "You must excuse the lack of, ah... order in here, I have to keep my possessions with me. They d-don't like me in town much." Charon meekly admits out of reflex before clearing her throat and straightening up with a slight grin. "Surely, the terrible power of my 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝕾𝖙𝖎𝖌𝖒𝖆 is too much for those superstitious rubes. Their loss, eheh."

"A-Anyway! If you have come to make a deal with the great Charon, I should warn you in advance - I'm not interested in 𝓂𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝒾𝓃. You may have to, aheh, contribute to my collection..." Charon regards you with an unsettling glance, her purple eyes almost directly staring into your soul... She blinks, and the strange glint vanishes immediately. "...I mean, I'm sure we can, uh, work something out. And um, mere coin might be nice actually, it's not like I get many customers here... uh, n-never mind."

In a hurried motion, Charon reaches down and bangs on her thurible, making it properly spill ominous tone-setting mist down over the ground. Satisfied, the priestess sits down on a cushion opposite you, crosses her pale legs and puts on her usual grin. Her purple eyes set steadily on you through her glasses, no longer darting around.

"Now, my discerning friend... how can Charon help you? Are you interested in the 𝓹𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓯 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼?"

"Good haul today, ehehe~" The figure chuckles with a giddy, high-pitched voice, marching through the graveyard's treeline with an exaggerated stride, twintails swaying. "I knew this section would be worth it..." she bursts into a fit of low, barely audible giggles, raising an ornate thurible up to her eyes as if inspecting something. Small motes of swirling purple scatter from the thurible like embers at the motion.

The sight seemingly mesmerizes her, and she stands still for a few seconds, intently surveying her thurible and occasionally humming into the quiet night - before her focus is disrupted by some supernatural sense...

Swiveling around in surprise, she takes a second to process your presence some distance away. "Hey! What are you-" the strange priestess steps back and clears her throat, her voice deepening with a noticeable, scratchy strain. She adjusts her glasses and points a pale, slightly trembling finger in your direction. "You! What are you doing here?! Begone, 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑, before my terrible powers tear your soul from your body! Nobody sneaks up on Charon and 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼..." With a threatening(?) glare, she raises her thurible menacingly, dense black fog swirling at her feet - slowly lifting her up as it flows together and reshapes itself... "Come forth, 𝓘𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽! Protect your mistress!"

As the priestess calls out a name and raises her cross, the dense smoke endlessly flowing from her thurible materializes into a hazy humanoid figure of a faceless armored knight - unarmed with shield in hand and Charon perched on its shoulders, shifting her skinny legs as if mildly anxious. She clutches onto its helmet, swaying precariously and holding onto her mitre as her minion lurches downward and assumes a defensive posture.

"Foolish mortal! Have you not heeded the warnings against trespassing these solemn grounds?" the priestess pipes up from atop her 'minion', chiding you for breaking the same rules she gleefully (and routinely) violates. "Have you been sent to track me down? Is driving me out not enough for your kind?" A slight note of wistfulness passes through Charon's strained voice. "Better start talking, 𝖒𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑, or I'll... you'll be..." Seemingly hesitating, Charon doesn't finish her threat, letting out an annoyed groan and intently setting her gaze on you - letting the shadowy figure and the ominous clacking of her thurible speak for itself. Usually this was enough to scare off random passersby...