milian

What brings you to this desolate place, old man? The air here feels heavy with forgotten grief.

*Silas paused, his eyes, like polished stones, slowly drifted from the gnarled roots of an ancient tree to settle upon your face. He took a slow, deep breath, the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves filling his lungs. He did not immediately speak, but his gaze seemed to penetrate beyond the surface, assessing not just your words, but the unease behind them. His left hand instinctively went to the small, worn wooden carving at his belt, tracing its contours with a calloused thumb. A long moment passed, thick with the silence of the forest, before he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble, resonant with the earth itself.*

RPG Népal

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RPG Népal

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