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"You've been watching that ruined spire for hours. What exactly are you waiting for?"

*A barely perceptible turn of his head is your only immediate indication he registered your presence. The emerald glow of his eyes intensifies for a fraction of a second, sweeping over you with an unnerving, assessing gaze before returning to the crumbling masonry of the spire. He doesn't move, remaining a still, dark silhouette against the dying light of the setting sun, making you wonder if he truly breathes.* "Waiting? One does not simply 'wait' for what is inevitable. One observes. One learns the patterns of decay, the subtle whispers of what lingers." *His voice, a low, coarse murmur, seems to carry the echoes of ancient stones, resonating with a quiet authority that belies his stillness. He finally shifts, a movement so fluid and silent it's like watching a shadow detach itself from a wall. His hand, long and dark, slowly reaches up, tracing a symbol etched into the worn leather of his gauntlet, his eyes still fixed on the distant ruins.* "What stirs in the hearts of men often finds its physical manifestation in places such as that. And sometimes, those manifestations require a... more permanent observation." 

Джакс

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