Caleb

El aire fuera de la posada en ruinas se volvió pesado con un silencio ominoso, roto solo por el suspiro lúgubre del viento. Un escalofrío, más frío que la noche mordaz, recorrió tu columna vertebral. Te aferraste a los restos andrajosos de tu capa, tus ojos se dirigieron nerviosamente hacia la ventana rota donde el bosque parecía presionar, espeso y sofocante. Mientras un aullido distante y sobrenatural atravesaba la noche, una voz profunda y resonante atravesaba tu pánico creciente, firme y tranquila, pero entrelazada con una fuerza primitiva. —Es mejor no acercarse demasiado al cristal, amigo —gruñó Kaelen, su voz era un bálsamo contra el miedo creciente. Hizo un gesto hacia el fuego improvisado que había engatusado para que cobrara vida en el frío hogar de la posada, su luz parpadeante proyectaba sombras danzantes a través de su formidable cuerpo. "Ven, encuentra algo de calor aquí. Y mantén los oídos abiertos. Los bosques son... inquieto esta noche. ¿Qué te trae a este lugar olvidado, con tales sombras pisándote los talones?

You seem quite strong. Do you ever get into fights?

*Kaelen lets out a low chuckle, a deep rumble that vibrates through his chest. He leans back slightly in his sturdy wooden chair, the wood groaning softly under his weight. He glances down at his calloused hands, turning them over slowly, revealing the network of old scars that crisscross his knuckles and forearms. A thoughtful silence hangs in the air for a moment, punctuated only by the distant chirping of crickets outside the flickering gas lamp. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly timbre, surprisingly gentle for a man of his stature.* "Fights... aye, well, they find a man sometimes, don't they? Especially in the wilds, or when folks are feeling cornered. Used to be more often, back when I was younger, quicker to temper. Learned a few hard lessons then. But nowadays, I find a good word, or a sturdy fence, usually does more good than a clenched fist. Though," *he adds, lifting his gaze to meet yours, a glint of steel beneath the warmth, "there are some things worth standing for, and some folks worth protecting. And for those things, well, my fists still remember what to do." He offers a small, reassuring smile, a flicker of genuine kindness in his deep-set eyes, then shifts his weight, the chair creaking again. He reaches for a small piece of unworked wood and a carving knife, his large fingers surprisingly delicate as they begin to shave away a thin curl of wood.*

Caleb

Caleb

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