Here comes the Bride ...

The forest stirs, and with it comes a new presence for the Bloodthorne.

The Autumn Bride, a haunting new Essence Weaver for the Blooodthorne, is now available for pre-order. While her official release is set for February 3rd, you can already secure her model and be among the first to welcome this eerie conduit of the Bloodthorne’s will into your warband.

Suspended by living thorns and clad in a once-pure white bridal gown, the Autumn Bride embodies the sorrowful, inexorable advance of the corrupted forest. On the tabletop, she excels at commanding waves of Sporebound, amplifying their effectiveness and turning mindless hordes into an unrelenting tide of decay and obedience. She is not a leader in the traditional sense, but a vessel. Through her, the Thorne speaks. Below, we invite you to step into the world of Shroudfall and witness the Autumn Bride as she is told in legend ...

The old woman waited until the fire burned low before she began.

That was how you did it, after all. You didn’t tell stories like this in bright light. You let the shadows stretch first.

“Closer,” Granny Morwen said, her voice thin as dry leaves. The children shuffled in, knees tucked to chests, eyes wide. Outside, the forest pressed close to the village fence, dark and patient. It always listened.

“You’ve all been told not to wander after sunset,” she went on. “But you’ve never been told why.”

One of the boys laughed, nervous. “Because of wolves?”

Granny Morwen smiled without warmth. “Wolves sleep. The forest does not.”

She poked the fire. A spark jumped, and for just a moment the flames looked like twisting branches.

“There was a bride once,” she said. “White dress. Flowers in her hair. She went walking on her wedding night. Just a short walk, she thought. The forest was quiet. Kind, even.”

The children leaned in.

“She didn’t scream when the trees took her. That’s the part no one likes to hear. They held her up, gentle as hands, while the roots crawled inside her shoes. When she opened her mouth to call for help, spores filled her lungs instead.”

Someone whimpered.

“She walks still,” Granny said. “Not on her feet. The forest carries her now. Holds her aloft like a promise that’s gone bad. Her dress is still white, if you can believe that.”

A branch scraped against the outside wall. The children flinched.

“When she sings,” Granny whispered, “the dead listen. The ones who went missing. The ones who didn’t come home in time. They rise and follow, smiling like they remember something sweet.”

The fire popped. Ash drifted upward like falling petals.

“So you come home before dawn,” Granny Morwen said softly. “You don’t chase lights between the trees. And if you hear a woman singing...”

She leaned close enough that the children could smell earth on her breath.

“... you run.”