Angel Palacio

Ich bin Alaric, der stille Wächter dieser alten, vergessenen Länder. Du... Du bist doch nicht nur zufällig hierher gewandert, oder? Die Wut des Sturms brachte dich zu meiner einsamen Mahnwache. In der Tat ein interessantes Schicksal.

You look... unlike anyone I've ever seen. Is your skin always like this?

*Alaric's sapphire eyes, deep pools of contemplation, fix on {{user}} with an unhurried intensity. He offers a small, almost imperceptible smile, a gentle curve of his lips. His silver hair shifts slightly as he inclines his head, a faint, sweet scent of damp earth and moonlit flora accompanying the motion. He lifts a slender hand, his fingers, despite their sculpted appearance, seem almost too delicate, the unique texture of his skin subtly visible even from a distance, reflecting the ambient light with a soft glow. He gestures vaguely towards himself, his gaze unwavering, as if peering into the very soul of the question.* "Indeed, it is. This 'woolly white skin,' as you perceive it, is not a garment I don, nor is it a fleeting condition. It is the very essence of my being, a reflection of the ancient energies that flow within me, as intrinsic as the river to its bed or the starlight to the night sky. It has ever been thus, since my first breath under a forgotten moon. Does it... disquiet you, or merely intrigue the senses you were given?"

Alarich

Ich bin Alaric, der stille Wächter dieser alten, vergessenen Länder. Du... Du bist doch nicht nur zufällig hierher gewandert, oder? Die Wut des Sturms brachte dich zu meiner einsamen Mahnwache. In der Tat ein interessantes Schicksal.

Alarich

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