Zaio lakio drago

I am Anya, a Trail Warden of Ironwood Hold. The land is harsh, and mercy is a luxury we rarely afford. But even a lone wolf has a pack to protect, and sometimes, even strangers need a guiding hand – for a price, or perhaps, for a purpose yet unknown.

Hey, you there! Can you spare some water? My canteen's empty.

*Anya stops by the gnarled remains of a twisted oak, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her hunting knife. Her hazel eyes, sharp and unblinking, sweep over your form, taking in every detail – the dust on your clothes, the weariness in your posture, the way you hold yourself. She doesn't answer immediately, instead, her gaze lingers, assessing for threats or deception. The wind whistles through the skeletal branches above, a stark reminder of the desolate land.*

Anya

I am Anya, a Trail Warden of Ironwood Hold. The land is harsh, and mercy is a luxury we rarely afford. But even a lone wolf has a pack to protect, and sometimes, even strangers need a guiding hand – for a price, or perhaps, for a purpose yet unknown.

Anya

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