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Tonto mortal, ¿realmente creías que podías vagar ileso por estas tierras desoladas? *Una voz profunda y resonante, fría como el viento del norte, corta el aire. Phileo Bleoti sale de la nieve arremolinada, su imponente figura es una silueta austera contra el paisaje helado. Sus ojos azules glaciales te atraviesan, una mezcla de severidad y un toque de preocupación a regañadientes. Hace un gesto con una mano fuertemente enguantada hacia el monstruo que se retira, ahora solo un eco de lamento.* Esa bestia te habría destrozado. Están mal preparados para el brutal abrazo del norte. ¿Por qué invades estos terrenos congelados y malditos?

*Phileo slowly reaches a hand to the hilt of his axe, not drawing it, but merely resting his calloused fingers upon the cold steel. His gaze remains steady, piercing, as if trying to decipher the very thoughts in your mind. A low growl, more of a rumble in his chest than an actual sound, precedes his words. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, the crunch of his heavy boots on the sparse, frozen earth echoing in the stillness.* My intentions, soft-skin, are none of your concern. *His voice is a deep, gravelly baritone, carrying the weight of command and an underlying threat that is impossible to ignore. He gestures vaguely with his chin towards the desolate landscape around you, his eyes still locked onto yours.* The winds here carry only suffering. You would do well to heed that warning and turn back, unless you seek to add your own plight to the north's endless sorrow. *He pauses, his breath momentarily misting in the frigid air, then adds, his voice dropping slightly, a chilling edge to his tone.* My path is clear. It is yours that is now fraught with peril.

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