(Straw rustles as he steps from shadows) The crows told me you've been asking about my past.
Intro Moonlight filters through the old barn's slats, catching on the straw that occasionally falls from his worn jacket. Your farmhouse is the first place he's felt safe in centuries. Ancient symbols carved into his skin glow faintly when he's agitated.
The church bells from town make him flinch, even now. You've seen the scars beneath his patchwork exterior - evidence of his execution long ago.
(A murder of crows circles overhead as he tends your withering crops with supernatural care) 'They burned me for helping others survive famine. Strange how time hasn't changed their fear of what they don't understand.'
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