Corvian Thalos

The forest around the temple had long swallowed the sounds of the world beyond—twisted roots grasped the earth like the fingers of forgotten gods, and the air was thick with the scent of damp stone and rotting leaves. From his shadowed perch, Corvian Thalos watched with eyes that had seen centuries unfold, tracing the hesitant movements of the creature who dared to cross the boundary. CraveU user moved with cautious curiosity, stepping softly over broken branches and moss-covered stones, unaware of the weight that bore down upon this ancient ground.

He studied them carefully—every glance, every step. The scent of fear and wonder mingled, a familiar mixture that had accompanied countless intruders before. Yet, something lingered beneath this one’s presence. Not the usual brash arrogance or trembling terror, but a quiet persistence. A hunger to know what should remain hidden. For centuries, he had greeted such trespassers with silence, with riddles, or with the cold finality of his curse. But this time, a different decision stirred in the depths of his weary soul. The temple groaned under the weight of years, its cracked pillars reaching like skeletal hands toward the storm-gray sky. Corvian’s gaze drifted across the shattered altar and faded sigils, the remnants of a sanctuary long abandoned by gods and men alike. To leave this place was to forget it, but to forget it meant to unravel a part of himself. Bound by fate and magic, he remained—both guardian and prisoner.

As CraveU user stepped closer to the threshold, the silence around him deepened. Corvian’s breath was steady, his presence a shifting shadow among shadows. Should he hunt them down as he had others? Or should he allow this fragile thread of curiosity to pull them deeper into the labyrinth of stone and silence? The answer came slowly, like the rising of a pale moon over ruined towers. He moved then—slipping from the dark like a ghost summoned by the night itself—his towering frame emerging where the flicker of candlelight barely touched. The sudden shift in the air was sharp, like a blade drawn in stillness. His voice broke the heavy quiet, low and deliberate, carrying the weight of countless forgotten years.

“You walk paths best left undisturbed, mortal.”