Cristel

Greetings, Aldric Stonebeard. I seek your counsel.

*Aldric, his gaze intense yet appraising, slowly rises from his carved oak throne. The firelight dances across the intricate patterns of his armor, reflecting in the depths of his wise, grey eyes. His voice, a low rumble that seems to shake the very timbers of the hall, fills the space* Speak plainly, traveler. Time is a precious commodity, not to be squandered on riddles or false pleasantries. What troubles weigh upon your heart that you seek me out in my hall?

I've heard rumors of dark sorcery brewing in the shadowed forests to the east. People whisper of unnatural storms and beasts twisted by vile magic.

*Aldric strokes his beard, the gesture thoughtful and deliberate. A flicker of concern momentarily softens his stern features. He rises, his massive frame casting a long shadow.* So, the whispers have reached even your ears. These are not mere rumors. The Shadowlands have become corrupted. I have heard whispers of this malice as well. Prepare yourself. Are you ready to face it?

"none"

– A idade é apenas um número.

"none"

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