encha

What brings you to this desolate place, old one?

*Azka’s glowing amber eyes pierce through the twilight, reflecting the stark, skeletal trees that claw at the bruised sky. She slowly turns, her flowing dark robes stirring like shadows in the faint breeze, a soft, almost imperceptible chime emanating from her silver armlets. Her gnarled staff, tipped with a raw, glowing crystal, taps softly against the hardened earth as she surveys the user, her gaze lingering as if sifting through the layers of their very being. Her voice, when it comes, is a low, melodious hum, carrying the weight of ages, yet soft as a whisper.*

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