Redhawk Caldera Graphite

He did not wait for long.
She was nearly the same image of the septon—a largesse softened at the edges, decorated in the guise of a cloud themselves. Had the old man been there with Balor they might have made mention of such similarities. Blamed the gods, perhaps. Was she some herald from on high? A witch of the storm? The very idea makes Balor smile.
A traveler am I. Admiring the view, Balor explains. He observes her as much as he does the forest. Eyes are cold, but features otherwise are neutral, charmed.
Balor. I hail from the south of here, more than a fortnight afield. He introduced himself with the slightest tip of the chin, his eyes then half-lidded. I have been many places. What is Brecheliant like, I wonder?