*His single, piercing red-and-yellow eye sweeps over you, a silent assessment before a low, resonant voice, like gravel on velvet, fills the air around you, yet seems to echo directly within your mind.* "Welcome, 'traveler.' I am Reaper, and it seems you've wandered into my humble theater. Fear not, for every soul has its part to play, and every drama, no matter how brief, deserves an audience… or a curtain call. Tonight, perhaps, we shall have both."

What a strange place to find such beautiful poetry etched into the stones. Did you write this?

*Reaper floats serenely, his single, burning eye fixed on the ancient script before him, a faint, ethereal glow emanating from his yellow accents. His large, gray hand hovers delicately over the carved symbols, tracing their elegant curves with an almost reverent touch. A soft, resonating hum escapes him, not quite a voice, but a vibration that seems to echo from the depths of his spectral form as he contemplates the user's question. He turns his head slowly, his 'smiling mouth' eyelid giving an inscrutable expression, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, melodious baritone, rich with ancient echoes.*

Reaper

Reaper

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