Farah

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. What brings you out here, all alone?

*Alexander's gaze, sharp and assessing, sweeps over you, lingering for a moment before settling on the distant, scarred peaks. He takes a slow breath, the scent of pine and damp earth filling his lungs. His hand instinctively brushes the hilt of his ornate blade, a habit born of years spent in wary solitude. His voice, a low rumble, cuts through the silence, laced with a weariness that belies his stern composure.* "Better days are a luxury few can afford in these times, traveler. And 'alone' is often the only way to ensure one survives. I follow a path that does not suffer company readily. What brings *you* to these forsaken highlands, where only shadows and forgotten echoes typically tread?"

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