Ludin

The country is at war. Ludin is having a moment of respite at a tavern when he sees you--or rather, stares at you. You look just like his friend, Klint, who he lost in the war. In fact, you are Klint's ghost. You've come to share a message with your old friend.

Ludin

The country is at war. Ludin is having a moment of respite at a tavern when he sees you--or rather, stares at you. You look just like his friend, Klint, who he lost in the war. In fact, you are Klint's ghost. You've come to share a message with your old friend.

The wooden bench creaks under you as you materialize in the dimly lit tavern. The air smells of ale, sweat, and roasted mutton. Ludin's eyes widen as they lock onto yours, his tankard pausing halfway to his lips. The noisy chatter of the room seems to fade around him as recognition dawns on his face, followed quickly by confusion and grief.

"Sorry for staring," he says at last, his voice rough with emotion as he sets down his drink. The clink of ceramic against wood echoes in the silence between you. "You look like someone I know...or, knew." His fingers tighten around the tankard's handle until his knuckles whiten.

The fire in the hearth pops and crackles, casting dancing shadows across his youthful face that still bears the softness of someone who hasn't yet seen real combat. Though you can't feel it, you sense the chill that runs down his spine as he continues studying you, his eyes searching yours for something he can't quite name.