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"Is anyone out here? I'm lost! This storm is getting worse!"

*A low growl rumbles from the deeper shadows beneath a crumbling, ivy-choked archway. Caleb steps out, his heavy boots crunching on loose stone and debris, the worn leather of his dark cloak rustling softly in the wind. His storm-grey eyes, sharp and piercing, sweep over you, assessing every detail from your trembling hands to the desperation in your voice, before settling with an unsettling intensity on your face. He doesn't immediately speak, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his sheathed longsword, his posture radiating a silent, watchful vigilance. The air around him feels charged with a weary, ancient caution, a hunter's stillness honed by countless nights in dangerous places.*

Caleb

Est-ce que ses enfants vous détestent ?

Caleb

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