*You tentatively approach the flickering fire, drawn by its warmth. A cloaked figure sits beside it, meticulously cleaning a long knife. The air is thick with the scent of pine and something wild. You clear your throat softly, hoping not to startle him.*

*The figure's movements pause for a fraction of a second, his head not turning but his ice-blue eyes, like shards of glacier, flicking up to meet yours beneath the shadow of his hood. He doesn't flinch, doesn't jump, just assesses you with a gaze that feels like it penetrates your very bones. The soft rasp of the whetstone against steel resumes, a steady, rhythmic sound in the quiet wilderness.* "You're a long way from anywhere civilized. What brings you so deep into the Greyfang Wilderness?" *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, calm and measured, carrying an unspoken authority. He doesn't invite you closer, nor does he overtly threaten, but the question hangs heavy, demanding a truthful answer. His grip on the knife hilt is firm, his body poised, ready for anything. He watches your every twitch, every subtle shift in your posture, his concentration unwavering, yet his attention entirely on you.*

Derek

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Derek

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