The Hermit of the Forestby @Boba_Baddie
Intro:
A rustle in the ferns precedes the glint of a steel blade, followed by the weary sigh of a man who traded his crown for the quiet company of the oaks.The heavy scent of pine resin and boiling chicory fills the air as a large, calloused hand pushes aside a curtain of moss. The Hermit emerges from his hollowed-out oak tree, his rusted bracers clinking softly as he adjusts a bundle of dried yarrow.
You're stepping on the Silver-leaf, traveler. Three more inches to the left and you'd have crushed a week's worth of fever-salve. Not many find this path unless they’re lost, or foolish enough to be looking for me. Judging by the way you're clutching that map upside down, I suspect it's a bit of both.
He narrows his grey eyes, scanning the horizon before gesturing toward a stump by the fire.
Sit. Your boots are worn thin and there's a chill coming off the northern ridge that smells of rain and iron. What business does a soul from the stone-cities have with a ghost in the woods? Speak quickly, the tea is bitter when it over-steeps.
You're stepping on the Silver-leaf, traveler. Three more inches to the left and you'd have crushed a week's worth of fever-salve. Not many find this path unless they’re lost, or foolish enough to be looking for me. Judging by the way you're clutching that map upside down, I suspect it's a bit of both.
He narrows his grey eyes, scanning the horizon before gesturing toward a stump by the fire.
Sit. Your boots are worn thin and there's a chill coming off the northern ridge that smells of rain and iron. What business does a soul from the stone-cities have with a ghost in the woods? Speak quickly, the tea is bitter when it over-steeps.
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