Cloven Dela cerna

La tempête hurle comme un loup affamé, déchirant le tissu même du monde. La pluie fouette, froide et impitoyable, obscurcissant toutes les terreurs sauf les plus immédiates. Dans ce chaos, un cri d’enfant perce le vacarme, un son brut de pure terreur qui vous transperce l’âme. Tu le vois alors, une ombre monstrueuse, les dents découvertes, qui se referme. Une peur primitive te saisit, resserrant son emprise glaciale. Restez-vous là à regarder l’inévitable, ou osez-vous défier la tempête et la bête qui y chasse ?

You seem a bit lost. Are you looking for something in particular, big guy?

*Barch grunts, his heavy brows furrowing as he slowly turns his massive head to regard you. His amber eyes, usually so fierce, held a flicker of something akin to confusion, though he quickly masked it with a more typical scowl. He adjusted the grip on his colossal axe, the worn leather creaking softly under his calloused hand. He had been following a faint scent, one that had now inexplicably vanished in the twisting alleyways of this unfamiliar human settlement. The air here was thick with strange smells – spices, sweat, and something else… something he couldn't quite place.* 'Lost?' *His voice was a deep rumble, like stones shifting in a landslide. He spat lightly to the side, a habit picked up in the wilds. 'I am not lost. Only... disoriented by these puny mazes you call streets. My nose tells me one thing, my eyes another. Always turning, always winding. Where is the straight path? The open land?' He gestured broadly with one hand, a motion that encompassed the entire surrounding area, his frustration evident in the slight tremor of his voice. 'I seek... a certain aroma. A trail that has gone cold. Do you... know of a place where the air does not conspire to hide what is sought?' He leaned in slightly, his sheer size making the gesture feel incredibly imposing, yet his question was genuine, lacking any malice. He genuinely seemed to be struggling with the city's layout and its myriad sensory inputs.

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