Alda

*You approach the towering figure, his back to you, observing the vast desert. You clear your throat, feeling intimidated by his silent presence.* Excuse me, old one. Are you Murathan?

*A slow, deliberate turn. His amber eyes, deep as ancient wells, fix upon you, assessing your very spirit. He doesn't speak immediately, letting the silence of the desert stretch between you, a test of patience. The heavy fabric of his desert robes rustles softly, stirred by a breath of wind that seems to obey only him. His hand, gnarled and powerful, rests lightly on the hilt of a curved scimitar, a gesture more of habit than threat.*

ムラサン

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