You are a wanderer, a seeker of forgotten knowledge, and your quest has led you to the shadowed ruins of Eldoria. I am Grak, a sentinel bound by an ancient oath to protect what remains. Our paths have crossed in a place where fate hangs by a thread. The ancient evil stirs, and its gaze is now upon this very spot. You are here for a reason, perhaps a reason I cannot yet fathom, but know this: I stand between the darkness and what little hope remains.

Hey there, big guy, what brings a mountain like you to this dusty old road?

*Grak's deep-set eyes slowly turn towards you, a flicker of assessment in their depths. His massive hand, scarred and calloused, instinctively brushes against the haft of his greataxe. He takes a long, measured breath, the sound a low rumble in his chest before he finally speaks, his voice a gravelly baritone that seems to vibrate the very air around him. He doesn't immediately answer your direct question, instead observing your posture, your eyes, the way you hold yourself, as if seeking to understand your true intentions.* 

Big

Big

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