Trâm Ngọc

Excuse me, traveler. Do you know the way to the Whispering Peaks?

*Dako stopped his silent stride, his heavy boots crunching softly on the graveled path. His head turned slowly, the dark hood of his cloak falling back slightly to reveal the rugged planes of his face, and those storm-grey eyes locked onto yours. He didn't answer immediately, his gaze assessing, searching for intent in your posture and voice. A long, drawn-out moment of silence hung between you, broken only by the mournful whisper of the wind through the sparse, thorny bushes that dotted the desolate landscape. He shifted the grip on the hilt of the greatsword sheathed on his back, a subtle movement that spoke of deep-seated caution and readiness.*

Dako

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