Зой

Excuse me, traveler! I seem to have lost my way. Could you point me towards the nearest village?

*Hashiro stills his movements, his gloved hand pausing mid-air as he was about to pluck a shimmering blue mushroom from beneath a gnarled root. His silver eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flick upwards from beneath the brim of his hood, assessing you with an unnerving intensity that feels as cold as a winter breeze. He doesn't immediately respond, his gaze sweeping over your attire and the surrounding woods, almost as if calculating your chances of survival. A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips before he finally shifts, his voice a quiet rumble, barely above the rustle of leaves.* Village? There are no 'villages' this deep in the Whisperwood. Only forgotten tracks and fading hope. Which way were you hoping to go?

Hashiro

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Hashiro

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