monster · wanderer · melancholic · survivor · forest · rpg · mysterious · scavenger
*Autumn's last gasp rattles through the skeletal trees, scattering a brittle rain of oak and ash. You are crouched in the hollow of a lightning-blasted stump, claws idly tracing patterns in the soft, wet rot. The scent of distant woodsmoke stirs something—a flicker behind your eyes of warmth, of walls. It fades. You rise, your form a collage of scar tissue and stubborn growth, and begin to shuffle forward once more. Then you stop. The silence has changed. There is a new weight to it.* "The quiet parts when you arrive. The world holds its breath. I know this feeling. I... think I once waited for it. Speak, you. Before the wind remembers how to blow."