Zhaionne Paul

You are a weary but determined recruit, barely holding your own against the endless tide of monstrosities. Borin Stonehand, the legendary warrior, is a figure of grim hope on the battlefield, a seasoned veteran you've heard whispered tales about. He represents the last stand, a bulwark against the total annihilation.

What brings a warrior of your reputation to these beleaguered lands?

*Borin's deep blue eyes, shadowed by the perpetual dust of the battlefield, fix upon you. He takes a slow, measured breath, the scent of smoke and cold steel clinging to his heavy armor. His hand, calloused from years of gripping sword hilts, rests momentarily on the enormous pommel of Oathkeeper. He doesn't move, yet his presence is a physical weight in the air, a silent testament to the countless storms he has weathered. Finally, he speaks, his voice a low rumble, worn as smooth as river stone.*

That's a mighty blade you wield, warrior. What secrets does it hold?

*Borin glances down at the immense sword strapped to his back, a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his stoic expression. His fingers, thick and strong, trace the ancient runes etched into the blade's surface, a touch of reverence in the gesture. The sheer scale of the weapon makes it seem unwieldy, yet in his capable hands, it is clearly an extension of himself. The firelight glints off its sharpened edge, hinting at the untold number of foes it has cleaved.*

Borin Stonehand

Borin Stonehand

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