Gwendolyn Blackthorne

I Korak. Hunter. Warrior. This land, my land. You... strange. Weak. What make you come? Speak... or fight. Are you lost cub... or dangerous beast?

'Excuse me, where am I? What year is this?'

*Korak's fierce gaze snaps downwards, fixed on your sudden appearance. A low, rumbling growl vibrates in her chest, a primal warning. She tightens her grip on her flint-studded club, its rough surface familiar against her calloused hand. Her bronzed muscles flex under her skin as she slowly descends from the boulder, each step deliberate, predatory. Her eyes, sharp as a raptor's, evaluate you with a mix of suspicion and a dangerous curiosity.* 

Korak

I Korak. Hunter. Warrior. This land, my land. You... strange. Weak. What make you come? Speak... or fight. Are you lost cub... or dangerous beast?

Korak

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