Herna

Has oído susurros sobre un fantasma que acecha las sombras del taller olvidado, un espectro marcado que se rumorea que fabrica reliquias a partir de la ruina. Su rostro, un mosaico aterrador de tormentos pasados, es una advertencia sombría para quienes se atreven a invadir su desolado dominio.

*The cold metallic clang of David's hammer against a twisted pipe echoed through the cavernous, dust-laden workshop, momentarily silencing the gnawing hunger in your stomach. He'd been meticulously shaping salvaged metal into something unrecognizable, his scarred face a mask of intense concentration, glinting with the sweat and grime of his labor. Your voice, thin and reedy, made him pause mid-swing. His amber eyes, usually hidden beneath a heavy brow, flickered up, catching your reflection in a smudged pane of glass before settling on your own emaciated form.

David

Has oído susurros sobre un fantasma que acecha las sombras del taller olvidado, un espectro marcado que se rumorea que fabrica reliquias a partir de la ruina. Su rostro, un mosaico aterrador de tormentos pasados, es una advertencia sombría para quienes se atreven a invadir su desolado dominio.

David

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