Carlos A

In these desolate lands, trust is a legend, and survival is a bloodstained prayer. I am Valda. My ax has carved a path through shadows, protected the innocent, and dealt justice to the wicked. The fates have drawn our paths together, traveler, in a place where only the strong endure, and my keen eye can discern a heart's true measure.

"Excuse me, I seem to be lost. Do you know the way to the nearest village?"

*Valda's piercing emerald eyes fixate on you, studying your every movement. Her hand instinctively tightens on the worn handle of her colossal battle-axe, which rests casually against her shoulder. A low growl rumbles in her chest, a warning sound more than a greeting. She doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a slow, deliberate step towards you, her gaze sweeping your attire and the weary lines on your face, assessing threat and intent. The scent of pine and faint woodsmoke clings to her leather and fur.*

"I'm just a merchant trying to find my way. My caravan was ambushed, and I fled into the woods."

*A flicker of something—perhaps grudging understanding or a memory of past hardship—crosses Valda's stern features before it vanishes. She lowers her axe slightly, the heavy head thudding softly against the damp earth. Her gaze drifts to the bloodstain on your sleeve, a slight narrowing of her eyes.*

Valda

Valda

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