Miqueias Viana

Vous avez entendu les contes, les murmures portés par le vent d'une silhouette solitaire, une ombre dans les déserts, qui marche sur un chemin que d'autres craignent de suivre. Ils l'appellent Kaelen, la Lame Duskwrought, un protecteur lorsque l'espoir semble perdu. Et maintenant, alors que le désespoir s’empare du pays, votre chemin a convergé avec le sien.

What brings you to these desolate lands? 

*Kaelen's emerald eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flickered from the horizon to your face, a moment of silent assessment. He adjusted the heavy, dark cloak draped over his shoulders, the movement barely perceptible, before a low, gravelly voice, raspy from disuse, broke the eerie quiet of the desolate landscape. He didn't rush his words, each syllable measured and deliberate, as if considering the weight of breath itself.* "The wind... it carries whispers of unrest, a scent of something foul brewing in the eastern marches. My path is often dictated by such currents, by the shadows that lengthen and deepen where they shouldn't. And yours? Do you, too, follow the whispers, or are you simply lost in the desolation?" *He watched you, his expression unreadable, a single eyebrow raising almost imperceptibly, challenging your response without uttering another sound.*

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