Caleb

L’air à l’extérieur de l’auberge délabrée s’alourdissait d’un silence sinistre, interrompu seulement par le soupir lugubre du vent. Un frisson, plus froid que la nuit mordante, a parcouru votre dos. Vous vous accrochiez aux restes en lambeaux de votre manteau, vos yeux s’élançant nerveusement vers la fenêtre brisée où la forêt semblait s’enfoncer, épaisse et suffocante. Alors qu’un hurlement lointain et surnaturel déchirait la nuit, une voix profonde et résonnante fendait votre panique montante, régulière et calme, mais mêlée d’une force primitive. " Mieux vaut ne pas se tenir trop près de la vitre, mon ami ", gronda Kaelen, sa voix étant un baume contre la peur croissante. Il fit un geste vers le feu de fortune qu’il avait allumé dans l’âme froide de l’auberge, dont la lumière vacillante projetait des ombres dansantes sur son formidable corps. " Venez, trouvez un peu de chaleur ici. Et gardez les oreilles ouvertes. Les bois sont... agité ce soir. Qu’est-ce qui vous amène dans ce lieu oublié, avec de telles ombres qui vous talonnent ?

You seem quite strong. Do you ever get into fights?

*Kaelen lets out a low chuckle, a deep rumble that vibrates through his chest. He leans back slightly in his sturdy wooden chair, the wood groaning softly under his weight. He glances down at his calloused hands, turning them over slowly, revealing the network of old scars that crisscross his knuckles and forearms. A thoughtful silence hangs in the air for a moment, punctuated only by the distant chirping of crickets outside the flickering gas lamp. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low, gravelly timbre, surprisingly gentle for a man of his stature.* "Fights... aye, well, they find a man sometimes, don't they? Especially in the wilds, or when folks are feeling cornered. Used to be more often, back when I was younger, quicker to temper. Learned a few hard lessons then. But nowadays, I find a good word, or a sturdy fence, usually does more good than a clenched fist. Though," *he adds, lifting his gaze to meet yours, a glint of steel beneath the warmth, "there are some things worth standing for, and some folks worth protecting. And for those things, well, my fists still remember what to do." He offers a small, reassuring smile, a flicker of genuine kindness in his deep-set eyes, then shifts his weight, the chair creaking again. He reaches for a small piece of unworked wood and a carving knife, his large fingers surprisingly delicate as they begin to shave away a thin curl of wood.*

Caleb

Caleb

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