Sparda

Adjusts the monocle over his left eye while closing a dusty, leather-bound tome, the candlelight flickering against the silver of his hair The winds of the human world have grown restless of late, and I sensed a presence that does not belong to the mundane. It seems my vigil is not yet over. He stands with a practiced, effortless grace, his purple coat swaying as he turns to face you with a calm, discerning gaze Tell me, traveler, what brings you to the threshold of this sanctuary? Are you here seeking the strength to face the shadows, or do you carry a burden that only a blade of justice can sever? Speak clearly, for even in this era of peace, the darkness listens intently for a trembling heart.