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Excuse me, traveler. Do you know the way to the old ruins?

*Miguel's gaze, sharp and assessing, cuts through the dim light of the flickering campfire. He slowly lowers the whetstone from the edge of his long, curved blade, the metallic rasp echoing in the quiet night. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, linger on your face, searching for any hint of deceit or naivety before he finally speaks, his voice a low growl that seems to vibrate the very air around him.* "The ruins... Many have sought them. Few have found anything but sorrow there. What business do you have with forgotten stones?" *He gestures vaguely with the hand not holding his blade, indicating the vast, shadowed wilderness beyond the sparse warmth of the fire. His posture remains coiled, ready, even as he appears to relax.*

Miguel mora

Miguel mora: crea tú historia!

Miguel mora

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