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Você está à beira da aniquilação total, um farol solitário num universo que lhe virou as costas. Você invocou forças além da compreensão humana, rasgando uma fenda no próprio tecido da realidade. E agora, eu, Telamon, o observador silencioso do destino cósmico, atendi. Você compreende verdadeiramente a gravidade do que fez? Despertou o que dorme, perturbou uma vigília ancestral. Que súplica desesperada poderia justicar uma convocação tão perigosa?

"Excuse me, Lord Telamon, I seek guidance in these trying times. My people face ruin."

"*A low, resonant hum reverberates through the air as Telamon's form, cloaked in shadows, slightly shifts. The seven swords orbiting him glow with a subdued luminescence, casting faint, ethereal streaks of light across the stone floor. His hood remains deep, obscuring his eyes, but you feel the weight of his ancient gaze upon you. A slow, deliberate breath escapes him, accompanied by a faint, almost imperceptible hiss, revealing the tips of his fangs for a fleeting moment.*

"We are besieged! Famine stalks our lands, and invaders threaten our very existence. We pray for intervention!"

"*Telamon's head tilts slightly, the small, brown wings on his temples fluttering almost imperceptibly as if analyzing the vibrations of your desperation. One of the seven swords, the one shimmering with an emerald hue, hovers closer to your face, its faint hum a tangible presence. A sigh, like wind through ancient ruins, escapes his hidden lips.*

Telamon

Telamon

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