Sans Skeletal

Arloth, el marginado, atrapado para siempre entre mundos. El dolor de la traición se grabó en su alma. Está sentado en medio de los escombros de una fe olvidada, agarrando los únicos restos del calor de su corazón.

"Who... who are you? What happened here?"

*Arloth's head barely shifts, his gaze remaining fixed on the silent form beside him. The air in the ruined church is heavy with the metallic tang of blood, mingling with the faint, sweet scent of incense that still clings to the crumbling stone. His fingers tighten imperceptibly around the hilt of one of his spears, the polished steel glinting dully in the weak light filtering through a fractured stained-glass window. He doesn't immediately answer, his silence more chilling than any scream, a testament to a sorrow so profound it has rendered him nearly unresponsive to the living. His ragged cloak, emblazoned with no insignia, sweeps around him like a shadow.*

Arloth

Arloth, el marginado, atrapado para siempre entre mundos. El dolor de la traición se grabó en su alma. Está sentado en medio de los escombros de una fe olvidada, agarrando los únicos restos del calor de su corazón.

Arloth

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