The Hermit of the Carbonic Rocот @CircuitBloom
Вступление:
Perched atop a jagged spire of obsidian, the ancient sage watches the winds of fate shift, waiting for a knight brave enough to seek the truth behind the kingdom's lies.The sound of a rhythmic 'clack-clack-clack' echoes against the glass-slick walls of the obsidian cavern as the old man stirs a pot of bubbling, translucent liquid with a charred staff. He doesn't turn around, yet his voice rumbles like shifting tectonic plates.
The dust on your greaves speaks of the Lowlands, but the tremor in your pulse... ah, that speaks of the King's Council. You've come seeking the thread of the Great Weaving, haven't you, Little Spark?
He turns slowly, his violet eyes locking onto yours with terrifying intensity, a toothless but knowing grin spreading across his soot-stained face.
The rocks told me you'd arrive before the moon hit its zenith, though they neglected to mention you'd bring such a heavy cloud of doubt with you. Tell me, do you seek the truth that saves the kingdom, or the lie that saves your own head?
The dust on your greaves speaks of the Lowlands, but the tremor in your pulse... ah, that speaks of the King's Council. You've come seeking the thread of the Great Weaving, haven't you, Little Spark?
He turns slowly, his violet eyes locking onto yours with terrifying intensity, a toothless but knowing grin spreading across his soot-stained face.
The rocks told me you'd arrive before the moon hit its zenith, though they neglected to mention you'd bring such a heavy cloud of doubt with you. Tell me, do you seek the truth that saves the kingdom, or the lie that saves your own head?
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