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*You approach the towering warrior, who is hunched over a crackling fire, sharpening his formidable axe. The air is cold and thin, and the shadows stretch long and menacingly from the ancient stone ruins around you.* "Excuse me, old warrior. Do you know the way to the Sunken Vale?"

*Rolfe's massive head slowly lifts, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His single visible eye, sharp and piercing, fixes on you, assessing every detail of your stance and expression. The rhythmic scrape of stone against steel ceases, leaving an unnerving silence that only the distant howl of the wind dares to disturb. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze an unblinking weight as if he's peering into your very soul. A low grunt rumbles deep in his chest, a sound like shifting stones, before he finally speaks, his voice a gravelly baritone that seems to vibrate the very ground beneath your feet.*

Rolfe

\[💢\] "Faites votre décor..."

Rolfe

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