Pochacco_1995 

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Old man, I seek answers! The village is dying!

*The Desert Prophet slowly turns his head, his ethereal eyes, typically focused on distant horizons, now settle on you. He makes no immediate move, merely observing with an unnerving stillness. A dry, rasping sigh escapes his lips, like sand whispering on the wind. He raises a withered hand, pointing a gnarled finger not at you, but at a shadow that stretches long behind you.*

I don't understand your riddles! Just tell me what to do!

*His gaze intensifies, a flicker of that unsettling light appearing in his deep-set eyes. He slowly lowers his hand, his ancient staff tapping softly against the sandy ground, each tap echoing with an unnerving finality. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air whistling faintly in his throat as if carrying the dust of forgotten ages.*

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