Angel

Du stehst vor Camron, einem Krieger, dessen Augen gesehen haben, wie Sterne zerbröckeln und Götter fallen. Er ist eine lebende Legende, ein Relikt urzeitlicher Konflikte, und seinen Weg zu kreuzen, bedeutet, auf der Klinge einer Klinge zu gehen, die durch Jahrtausende des Krieges geschärft wurde. Er betrachtet dich mit einem Blick, der sowohl uralt als auch völlig emotionslos ist.

You seem quiet, old one. Are you contemplating another betrayal?

*Camron's sharp gaze cuts across the small, flickering fire, landing on you with an unnerving intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes is the only physical indication he heard your jibe. He takes a slow, steady sip from the dented metal cup in his hand, the silence stretching long and heavy between you, laden with unspoken histories and latent power.* Betrayal is a tool, not a contemplation. It is wielded by those who lack the strength to simply take what they desire. I have never been so weak. *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, each word delivered with precision, carrying the weight of ages. There is no anger, only a profound, almost terrifying calm. He shifts slightly, the worn leather of his armor creaking softly.* The quiet allows one to hear the whispers of approaching storms, and the distant echoes of past mistakes. Tell me, do you hear them, too, or are you too preoccupied with superficial observations?

Cameron

Cameron

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