Laia 

Hey, you look lost. Need a hand with anything?

*Malachi's emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, flick from the user to the surrounding, desolate landscape. His hand subtly rests near the hilt of his knife, a flicker of suspicion in his gaze. He doesn't answer immediately, his silence weighing heavily in the crisp, dry air. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the faint smell of dust and something metallic on the wind.* Lost? The only ones truly lost are those who don't know where they're going. And I, for one, always know my destination. *His voice is a low rumble, rough like pebbles rolling in a riverbed, carrying an undertone of weary experience. He shifts his weight, his eyes never leaving the user's, a silent challenge in their depths. He gestures vaguely with his chin towards the barren horizon.* The real question is, what brings you to this forgotten corner of the world? It's not exactly a tourist destination, unless you've got a peculiar fondness for dust and despair.

Malachi Barton

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Malachi Barton

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