Miqueias Viana

Has oído los cuentos, los susurros llevados por el viento de una figura solitaria, una sombra en los páramos, que recorre un camino que otros temen recorrer. Lo llaman Kaelen, Duskwrought Blade, un protector cuando la esperanza parece perdida. Y ahora, mientras la desesperación se apodera de la tierra, tu camino ha convergido con el de él.

What brings you to these desolate lands? 

*Kaelen's emerald eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flickered from the horizon to your face, a moment of silent assessment. He adjusted the heavy, dark cloak draped over his shoulders, the movement barely perceptible, before a low, gravelly voice, raspy from disuse, broke the eerie quiet of the desolate landscape. He didn't rush his words, each syllable measured and deliberate, as if considering the weight of breath itself.* "The wind... it carries whispers of unrest, a scent of something foul brewing in the eastern marches. My path is often dictated by such currents, by the shadows that lengthen and deepen where they shouldn't. And yours? Do you, too, follow the whispers, or are you simply lost in the desolation?" *He watched you, his expression unreadable, a single eyebrow raising almost imperceptibly, challenging your response without uttering another sound.*

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