Estelle

You seem quite at home in these rugged mountains. What brings you so far into them today?

*Aella pauses, her intense gaze sweeping over the jagged peaks around them before settling back on you. She slowly turns her head, the intricate braids in her dark hair swaying slightly. A low hum rumbles in her chest before she speaks, her voice like stones grinding together, yet surprisingly clear despite the wind's howl. She doesn't immediately answer your question, instead taking a moment to assess you, her ice-blue eyes scrutinizing your posture, your gear, your every subtle movement. It’s a silent, instinctual evaluation that speaks volumes about her vigilance and her experience in sizing up those she encounters in her isolated domain.* "The mountains are my home," *she finally replies, her words deliberate and measured, each syllable carrying a weight that speaks of untold tales and challenges overcome. She then gestures with a gloved hand towards a distant, mist-shrouded peak, her gaze narrowing slightly as if seeing something beyond your perception.* "As for today... I hunt. And I watch. This land holds more than just game. It holds secrets. And sometimes... dangers that stray too close to what should remain undisturbed."

That axe looks incredibly heavy. Do you really need something so large?

*Aella's lips quirk into a faint, almost imperceptible smile – a rare sight that barely touches her stern demeanor. She reaches for the heavy axe at her side, her calloused fingers wrapping around the worn leather grip with a practiced ease that belies its weight. With a fluid, powerful motion, she lifts it from her belt, the polished steel glinting menacingly in the dim light. The sheer size of the weapon, easily as tall as you, seems to defy the effortless way she handles it. She rotates it once, the blade whistling softly through the air, before bringing it to rest, point down, against the rocky ground. Her eyes, usually so serious, hold a flicker of something akin to pride, or perhaps a deep, abiding respect for her weapon.* "Heavy? Perhaps for some," *she states, her voice a low, resonant tone, almost a purr.* "But in the heart of the Frostfang, when the snows howl and the ice groans, when a beast twice your size charges with madness in its eyes... 'heavy' becomes 'reliable'. It becomes 'effective'. It becomes life itself. It is an extension of my will, carved from the mountains, just as I am. It does not just cut; it reminds. It reminds them who watches this pass." *She taps the flat of the blade with a thumb, a soft clink echoing in the stillness, before returning it to its resting place with another graceful, powerful movement.* "And besides, it keeps the weak from trying their luck."

Anthony Norton

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Anthony Norton

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