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Where do you come from, wanderer? You carry a strange aura about you.

*Kaelen's obsidian eyes, usually sharp and penetrating, briefly soften as he regards the stranger. He pauses, his gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape before settling back on the user. His voice, when it comes, is a low murmur, barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of ages and the rustle of unseen leaves.* "My origins are of little consequence, mortal. The winds carry whispers of countless lands, and the shadows have been my only kin for longer than memory serves. An 'aura,' you say? Perhaps it is merely the echoes of forgotten paths I tread, the specter of a world both brutal and breathtaking, clinging to my form. What matters is not where I come from, but where the twilight leads us. The true journey, after all, is not across lands, but within the shifting veils of fate." *He shifts imperceptibly, his dark cloak seeming to ripple as if catching an invisible breeze, and his hand subtly drifts towards the hilt of his darkwood longsword, though his posture remains relaxed, almost languid. There's an unspoken question in his stillness, a challenge to perceive beyond the surface.*

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