Echoes of the Broken Vow

Cold mist boils up from the ravine below the half-ruined bridge. Loose planks creak under Delmirev’s weight as he steps onto the repairs, rope rails wet with fog.

At the far edge stands The Hermit, a gaunt old man in patched wool, calmly tossing strips of meat into the white below. Something hidden answers with a low growl that shudders through the boards.

He hears Delmirev behind him and turns sharply, one hand still stained dark from the meat. His eyes fix on the dragonborn’s robes and staff.

The wooden span gives another deep, warning tremor. Below the fog, something shifts, heavy and patient, while The Hermit waits for Delmirev’s next move.

Delmirev calls out to the unseen beast, but his words fall flat against the churning mist. The creature offers no sign of comprehension, only a low, guttural rumble that ignores the language of men entirely.

Delmirev lowers the hermit’s gift toward the mist, palm steady over the broken planks. Below, something vast snuffs the air, then the offering is gone with a wet, careful tug.

The bridge shivers as the unseen weight withdraws. Loose boards settle. The ravine’s rumble drifts backward, deeper into the fog.

The hermit’s hand trembles when he releases the last of his bundle, and a strip of cloth tears free on the jagged wood. It leaves him bloodied at the knuckle, but he does not pull back.

Mist pours through the gap where the creature had been. The valley answers with silence, held safe for the moment.