The flickering candlelight dances across Anya's wrinkled face, illuminating the lines etched by years of wisdom and experience. Her knowledge is vast, a deep well of lore and understanding, but even she admits to limits. The things beyond this world, the powers that shape and influence Authios from afar—those remain largely unknown, shrouded in mystery. She speaks of ancient prophecies, of forgotten gods and cosmic forces, her words painting a picture far grander, far more perilous than you initially imagined. Yet, amidst this tapestry of cosmic events, you choose a simpler path. You want to blend in, to become an unnoticed thread in the fabric of this society. Saving the world, even a small part of it, feels like a monumental task, far beyond your current capabilities.
The "saints" of the High Empire, with their immense power and political maneuvering, are hardly paragons of virtue. You, a stranger in a strange land, are certainly no exception. Anya understands your perspective. There's a weariness in her eyes, a reflection of the weight of centuries of knowledge. She speaks of the challenges you'll face—the prejudices, the suspicions, the very real danger lurking in the shadows. Yet, she offers practical advice. She speaks of disguises, of adopting a commoner's identity, of learning the local customs and dialects.
She shows you simple spells, designed to mask your presence, to help you fade into the background. "The world may be teetering on the brink," she says, her voice low, "but life continues. Find your place within it, child. For now, survival is your greatest quest." She hands you a small, intricately woven pouch containing herbs and a few carefully crafted amulets. "These will aid you," she explains, "but remember, true blending comes from within. Let the world mold you, but never lose yourself in the process." As you leave Anya's hut, the night air feels different. The weight of impending doom remains, but it´s lighter now, somehow less crushing.
You´ve chosen a path of subtle integration, of quiet observation, of adaptation. You´re not going to save the world today, but you might just survive to see tomorrow. But as you walk, you notice something shifting in the shadows—a flicker of movement, a fleeting sensation of being watched. The unseen observers, the ones who play in the shadows of grand cosmic events, are still there, their presence a constant reminder that your journey is far from over. The village, once a place of calm observation, now holds a new uncertainty. The path you've chosen isn't without its own perils.