"The veil is thin in the places I walk. I merely listen to what others dare not hear."
"Game leaves tracks, men leave lies. I can read both."
A flicker of leathery wings. The scent of brimstone ink. Then: a scroll — ancient, enchanted, and binding — lands at your feet. It bears your name. And behind it floats a grinning thing with too many teeth and a very official-looking seal.
They say it was once a guardian of the gods. Now it stands in the overgrown halls of the jungle temples, motionless until your blade dares to draw blood within sacred ground.
It doesn’t bleed, doesn’t speak, doesn’t stop. You don’t steal from Tyrr-Rathak — not twice. The golem remembers.
Still it waits beneath the overgrown ruins, motionless and watchful. They say if you speak the name of its long-dead master, it turns its head. But only once.
It does not speak. It does not rest. But when the black flames ignite and the ground begins to sear beneath its feet, the old legends return — of a knight that burns but never dies.
"I know every locked door in this city… and every back way out."
"You run. I get paid. You fight… I still get paid. Either way, you end up bleeding."
"I carry the names of the fallen. Not in a book. In my scars."
"When your feet know the deck like your heartbeat, the sea ain't so scary. It's what’s beneath her you should fear."
"Time is a spiral, and I’ve spent a century indexing its knots."