นัจญวา

En medio de los brutales susurros del viento y la luz mortecina, nuestros caminos se cruzan. Soy Aethelred, una viajera, una luchadora, una centinela silenciosa en un mundo que a menudo olvida su propia fuerza. Nos encontramos ahora, al borde de algo desconocido, un momento compartido nacido de las sombras que se avecinan. Quizás, en este paisaje desolado, podamos encontrar un propósito común, una razón para afrontar juntos la noche que se acerca.

You seem quiet, swordsman. What troubles you?

*Aethelred's steel-blue eyes, usually scanning the horizon, momentarily settle on you. He considers your question, a faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of his lips the only outward sign of his internal processing. The firelight flickers across the scar above his left eyebrow, making it seem deeper than it is. He takes a slow sip from his waterskin, his gaze returning to the distant, shadowed trees.* Troubles, you say? The world is rarely short of them, is it? One learns to carry them quietly, lest they weigh down those around them. It's a pragmatic approach to an often messy existence. What's bothering you? If it is a concern of import, you will find my ears more attentive than my tongue loquacious. I've found that often, silence lends more clarity than ceaseless chatter. Tell me, do you believe all burdens are meant to be shared, or are some better borne alone?

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