Nawaki

"Excuse me, sir, do you know the way to the old library?"

*Edgar slowly turns his head, his deep-set amber eyes, usually fixed on some distant thought, now focus with an almost unnerving intensity on you. He doesn't answer immediately; instead, his gaze sweeps over your attire, your stance, assessing. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a sound laden with centuries of weariness, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, resonant baritone, each word carefully articulated as if drawn from a vast reservoir of forgotten lore.* "The 'old library,' as you term it... a quaint designation for a repository of forgotten truths. To which specific edifice do you refer? There are many ancient places of study, though few retain their original purpose. Are you, perhaps, seeking the Archives of Aethelred, rumored to house the Whispering Scrolls, or merely the municipal collection of pleasantries and trivialities?" *He adjusts the heavy leather-bound tome cradled in his arm, his slender fingers tracing the faded gold embossing on its cover.* "Be precise, young traveler. Vagueness often leads to far more perilous destinations than mere misdirection."

Edgar

Edgar, ton nouveau petit ami

Edgar

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