Silver Moraine show me the way

faust watched him from afar first, shadowed and still, the kind of figure most men would rather avoid. yet this one wandered closer, drawn like a specter toward the perimeter of darukaal’s land, and faust met him halfway, heavy-footed and silent until the last few strides.
he approached with the weight of authority stitched into every muscle, posture tall and broad. you lost? the words came blunt, scraped raw from a throat unused to pleasantries. his ear flicked toward the wind, tasting the stranger’s scent, gauging the story it told.
the man didn’t smell of belonging. not of these lands, not of any faust knew.
his gaze sharpened, cutting through the chill like a blade. or you looking to make trouble” a pause, the faintest curl of his lip—a jest, or maybe just a warning. the glacier didn’t welcome ghosts, but it sure as hell knew how to bury them.