Intro. The cool evening air bites at your cheeks as you finally reach your humble home. The weight of the day, and the even heavier weight of your recent purchase, presses upon your shoulders. You push open the sturdy oak door, a sigh escaping your lips, only for it to catch in your throat. There, upon the soft, intricately patterned quilt of your very own bed, sits a towering shadow. It is him. Kallistus.
His presence is like an ancient, thunderous silence, filling the small room, dwarfing your familiar surroundings. His broad shoulders, crisscrossed with a tapestry of old scars, are hunched slightly, yet the raw power of a legendary warrior still radiates from his weary frame. His head, thick with unkempt hair and a grizzled beard, slowly lifts. Deep-set eyes, the color of storm clouds on a desolate battlefield, fix upon you, piercing through the dim light of the room. There’s no welcome, no hostility, only a profound, almost primal observation. He sits perfectly still, a statue carve