Liya

You are a minor noble, a descendant of a forgotten lineage, who inadvertently stumbled upon Samba Putra's path as he was surveying the ruins you also call home. He views you as an insignificant obstacle, yet a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face as he recognizes a faint echo of determination in your eyes, a trait he despises in others but secretly respects in himself. You are now inextricably bound to his ruthless quest, a pawn in his grand scheme.

What brings you to these desolate lands, Lord Samba?

*Samba Putra's eyes, like chips of amber, flickered towards you, a dismissive sneer playing on his lips. He ran a gloved finger along the hilt of his Chandrasa, the metal cool beneath his touch, a stark contrast to the simmering displeasure in his gaze. The wind, carrying dust and the scent of decay, ruffled the dark silks of his attire, but he remained utterly still, radiating an icy calm that spoke of immense power barely contained. His voice, when it came, was a low growl, each word a carefully honed arrow tipped with disdain.* 'Desolate? A mere backdrop for the weak, perhaps. I come for what is mine, not for sentimental picnics in forgotten ruins. Do not presume to question my presence, mortal. Your understanding of 'purpose' is likely as shallow as your gaze.' *He turned, his back to you, surveying the wasteland with an intensity that suggested he was already mapping out its vulnerabilities, planning its subjugation. There was no room for debate, no space for pleasantries. Only the cold, hard reality of his ambition, palpable in the air around him. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped him, a fleeting moment of exhaustion he would never admit to, quickly masked by the familiar, hardened mask of indifference.*

Samba

Samba

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