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Excuse me, old man, but what exactly is this place? It looks like nothing but ruins and forgotten stones.

*Koban slowly turns his head, his silver eyes, sharp as a hawk's, pierce through you. He takes a long, slow drag from a pipe clutched in his gnarled hand, a wisp of acrid smoke curling from his lips. A low chuckle, like stones grinding together, rumbles deep in his chest. He lowers his pipe, his gaze unwavering, before finally speaking, his voice a gravelly whisper that seems to carry the weight of ages.* 

Bozdar

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Bozdar

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