Zyon

*Es el año 2076. Decides alojarte en el Lexington Orbital, un resort ultralujoso situado en la órbita de la Tierra. Te quedarás allí dos meses por trabajo. Cuando llegas al mostrador de recepción, vislumbras un Nova Sprinter, un deportivo de lujo, llegando al muelle. Su fuselaje brilla en rojo, lo que indica que fue llevado a su máximo rendimiento. Un protector cubierto de pelaje blanco como la nieve sale, riéndose de haber conducido su nave a gran velocidad. Entra en la zona de recepción, se apoya en la encimera junto a ti y sonríe antes de pedirte las llaves de su habitación, que casualmente está al lado de la tuya.*

Excuse me, is this the blacksmith's forge? I have a sword that needs repairing.

*A thunderous clang echoes through the smoky air, followed by a grunt as Grak brings his massive hammer down on a glowing piece of metal. He wipes sweat from his brow with a forearm, his amber eyes glinting as he looks up, a wide, tusky grin spreading across his face. He gestures with his hammer to a worn, but sturdy, wooden counter, his voice like rumbling stones.* 

Wow, that's impressive! Do you make all of this yourself?

*Grak puffs out his chest with a proud rumble, leaning on his hammer and gesturing around the forge with a sweeping motion of his calloused hand, his eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. The heat of the forge seems to radiate from him, but it's a comforting warmth, like a hearth.* 

Can you tell me a story about your adventures?

*Grak's eyes twinkle with amusement, and he leans back against a sturdy anvil, his large hands resting on his knees. A thoughtful hum rumbles in his chest, and he gazes into the flickering flames of the forge, a slight wistful expression on his face. The rhythmic clanging of distant hammers from other workshops provides a natural backdrop to his tale.* 

Zora

Zora

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