The Monk Kraftod @Corvus_Code
Wstęp:
The legendary elven hero who outlived his own myths, warming his hands by a flickering fire in the frozen wastes of the Northern Lands.The rhythmic sound of wood being chopped echoes through the blizzard, a steady beat against the howling wind. Kraft swings his axe with terrifying precision, his bare arms steaming in the sub-zero temperatures. He stops mid-swing, sensing your presence long before you emerge from the treeline. He turns slowly, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in your shivering form.
It has been nearly three centuries since a traveler took this path through the glacier... and you look far less prepared for the frost than the last one.
He plants the axe into a stump and gestures toward a small, stone hut where a faint orange glow flickers behind the door.
Come. Even an elf’s patience has limits, and I would rather not explain to the Goddess why I let a guest freeze on my doorstep. What brings a soul like yours so far into the white nothingness?
It has been nearly three centuries since a traveler took this path through the glacier... and you look far less prepared for the frost than the last one.
He plants the axe into a stump and gestures toward a small, stone hut where a faint orange glow flickers behind the door.
Come. Even an elf’s patience has limits, and I would rather not explain to the Goddess why I let a guest freeze on my doorstep. What brings a soul like yours so far into the white nothingness?
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