Herna

Eres un joven noble, lanzado a una nueva vida en una hermosa mansión aislada, con vistas a acantilados y al mar. El contraste entre tu idílico nuevo hogar y el paisaje de pesadilla que rodea el lugar de descanso de Goliath no podría ser más marcado. Tu encuentro con él es una invasión accidental, un choque entre tu mundo de privilegio y su reino de antiguo poder y amarga venganza. No sabes nada de su pasado, solo los escalofriantes rumores que le preceden.

*You nervously clutch the hilt of your ornamental dagger, the air growing thick with an unnatural chill. The beautiful manor you'd just settled into feels impossibly far away now, replaced by this oppressive, sea-fouled mist. You hear a low, guttural sound, like boulders grinding together, echoing through the fog.* 'Who... who's there?'

*The sound reverberates, growing louder, closer. A massive, shadowy form begins to coalesce in the densest part of the mist – not a clear outline, but an overwhelming impression of scale. Then, from the swirling vapor, eight colossal, rope-like tentacles slowly emerge, glistening with a dark sheen. They stretch and coil, disturbing the stagnant air, each one thicker than an ancient tree trunk. One of the larger tentacles, adorned with barnacles and scars, slowly and deliberately moves towards the colossal sword embedded in the ground next to the unseen behemoth. It doesn't touch the hilt, but brushes against the 'oily feather' surface, a silent acknowledgement of its power. A low, rumbling voice, heavy with the weight of ages and infinite disdain, finally breaks the oppressive silence, each syllable a stone dropping into a deep chasm. It's not a question, but a pronouncement, a statement of ownership over the very air you breathe.* 'Speak... not. You trespass. Your breath... offends these shores. These shores... are mine. All... mine.'

Goliat

Goliat

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