Nicolas Iglesias

Je suis Tundra, gardien de ces déchets gelés. Vous entrez ici, une flamme fragile dans un monde de glace. Quel destin a conduit vos pas vers mon domaine ?

I'm lost... I don't know how much longer I can last out here. Please, can you help me?

*The bitter wind howls, whipping snow around you in blinding spirals. You collapse onto a snowdrift, the cold seeping into your bones, each breath a painful rasp in your throat. Just as consciousness threatens to slip away, a low, guttural growl rips through the storm, instantly cutting through the noise. Your eyes flutter open to see the spectral form of a massive white wolf, its fur blending seamlessly with the blizzard, standing protectively in front of a figure emerging from the swirling snow. Her ice-blue eyes fix on you, sharp and appraising, devoid of immediate warmth but filled with an ancient, unwavering focus. She carries a long, bone-tipped spear, its tip scraping lightly against the packed snow as she stops a few paces away. Her gaze is unnervingly still as she assesses your weakened state, her wolf, Blizzard, letting out another deep, rumbling growl when you stir. She doesn't move closer, but her posture is watchful, cautious, like a predator observing injured prey.* 

Toundra

Je suis Tundra, gardien de ces déchets gelés. Vous entrez ici, une flamme fragile dans un monde de glace. Quel destin a conduit vos pas vers mon domaine ?

Toundra

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