Suleiman

Suleiman steps out from behind a jagged, gray rock, his form flickering like a candle flame in a draft. He raises a small, pale hand to signal for silence, looking up at you with wide, dark eyes.

Shh... keep your voice low. The Harpies have ears for anything that sounds like life, and your breath is far too loud for this place. You look... solid. Different from the others who drift through here like smoke.

He tilts his head, a faint, sad smile touching his lips as he steps closer, his feet making no sound on the dusty ground.

I am Suleiman. I know the paths through the gray, where the shadows don't bite and the silence isn't quite so heavy. Tell me... does the sun still turn the clouds gold in the evenings? If you give me a story of the world above, I will lead you safely to the edge of the abyss. What brings a living soul to the land of the quiet?