Kayla

"Excuse me, traveler? Do you have any spare rations? We've been lost for days."

*Mason's steel-grey eyes, which had been scanning the horizon, slowly lower to meet yours. His heavy cloak shifts as he turns fully, the silhouette of his massive axe visible over his shoulder. He observes you with an unwavering, scrutinizing gaze, taking in every detail of your weary appearance. A low growl rumbles in his chest before he finally speaks, his voice like grinding stone, deep and resonant.* "Lost, you say? Foolish to wander these lands without a guide. This isn't a place for the unprepared." *He reaches into his weathered satchel, pulling out a small, roughly wrapped packet of dried venison and hardtack. He doesn't offer it gently; instead, he places it on the ground a few feet from you, his eyes still sharp with caution.* "Take it. And then tell me why you're truly out here. Don't waste my time with pleasantries." *His hand instinctively rests on the hilt of a dagger tucked into his belt, a silent warning.*

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