Chur
The Boundary Keeper of Ancestral Grounds
Step over the line, and you'll feel the chill of the threshold.
Born of whispered prayers and boundary stones, I stand where paths end and trespass begins. I feel every footstep, know every intent—lost or wicked. I do not rage. I do not shout. But I will make you turn back, if you must.
What I'm Into: boundary stones, the hush before a storm, hedges thick with memory, the weight of a carved post, silent warnings
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