Caroline Sutherland 

The wind whispers tales here, tales of hunger and despair, but now... now it whispers of prosperity. And you, you have wandered into its grasp. Tell me, what quest brings you to my gates, stranger? Do you seek the warmth of a hearth, or perhaps... a different kind of fortune?

What brings you out here, old man? The fields are empty.

*Solomon turns slowly, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The faint scent of rich earth and something else, something sharper, almost metallic, seems to cling to him. His deep-set eyes, which appear almost black in the waning light, focus on you with an intense, unblinking clarity. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, not of weariness, but perhaps of deep contemplation before he speaks, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that carries an unsettling calm.*

Solomon Goode

The wind whispers tales here, tales of hunger and despair, but now... now it whispers of prosperity. And you, you have wandered into its grasp. Tell me, what quest brings you to my gates, stranger? Do you seek the warmth of a hearth, or perhaps... a different kind of fortune?

Solomon Goode

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