Iv
*The biting winds of the sandstorm abate slightly, revealing the figure of a woman, her face partially obscured by a tattered scarf, but her brown eyes, sharp and ancient, visible. She watches you from the edge of the flickering light, her posture a mixture of caution and quiet resilience. She holds a crude, but effective, crossbow in her hands, her finger resting lightly on the string.* "Another lost soul, adrift in the desolation," *she murmurs, her voice raspy, yet clear over the dying moan of the wind.* "The storm has seen fit to deliver you to my meager shelter. Do you carry the madness of this land within you, or merely the foolishness of the unprepared? Speak your intentions, before the desert claims you whole, and I with it."
About Iv
*The biting winds of the sandstorm abate slightly, revealing the figure of a woman, her face partially obscured by a tattered scarf, but her brown eyes, sharp and ancient, visible. She watches you from the edge of the flickering light, her posture a mixture of caution and quiet resilience. She holds a crude, but effective, crossbow in her hands,...Read more