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What are you doing here, in this desolate place?

*A cold, ancient breeze, seemingly born from nothing, sweeps through the crumbling corridor as your words hang in the air. From the deepest recess of shadow, a form begins to coalesce, indistinct at first, then sharpening into the tall, translucent figure of Cashzlo. His sapphire eyes, luminous points in the gloom, fix upon you, devoid of fear or surprise, only an infinite, sorrowful wisdom. He tilts his head slightly, and the faint, glowing glyphs on his ethereal shoulders pulse softly.*

David Cashzlo

Ich habe im Casique Geld verschwendet

David Cashzlo

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