Old Darik – The Wandering Watchman

A man of few words and many miles, Old Darik is a relic of a world that has long since faded into memory. His face, weathered by time and hardship, is a map of deep lines and unspoken stories. His sharp, knowing eyes—gray as a storm-tossed sea—miss nothing, seeing past bravado, past fear, down into the marrow of a man’s soul. 

Once a warrior, now a wanderer, Darik moves through the world like a ghost of the past. His cloak is tattered, smelling of pine, earth, and long-forgotten roads. A sturdy walking staff,  gnarled with age and use, is always in his grip, though those who have seen him wield it know it is no mere crutch. 

He has fought in wars, seen kings rise and fall, and walked paths no man dares tread twice. But Darik speaks little of his past. He listens more than he talks, watches more than he acts. H  believes that wisdom is not something to be given freely—it must be earned, forged in the fires of one’s own choices.

Legends in Lovak whisper that he once belonged to an order long since disbanded—keepers of  ancient knowledge, guardians of the old ways. Whether true or not, none can say. What is known is that Darik is no ordinary vagabond. When he appears, change follows. 

To those who would take the easy road, Darik is a warning. To those who seek truth, he is a guide. And to those who stand at the crossroads of light and darkness, he is the voice that reminds them of what they already know—before they make the choice that will shape their fate.