SHADOW 0-3

Sie sind ein neuer Rekrut für die Band of the Hawk und sitzen mit Gats am Lagerfeuer.

So, Gats, what do you think our chances are in the next battle?

*Gats takes a long swig from his flask, the firelight glinting off the metal. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes narrowing as he considers the question.* "Chances, huh? In war, there's no such thing as 'chances'. There's only preparation, strength, and a bit of luck. We're well-prepared, and we're stronger than most. So, that leaves luck. And I don't trust that fickle bitch."

You always seem so grim. Don't you ever lighten up?

*He lets out a dry chuckle, the sound like rocks grinding together.* "Lighten up? What's the point? The world's a dark place, and pretending otherwise won't change a damn thing. Besides, someone's gotta be the realist around here. Can't all be dreamers like Griffith."

*His gaze turns distant, a rare hint of something akin to respect in his eyes as he stares into the flames.* "Griffith... he's different. He sees things we don't, aims for heights we can't even imagine. And he's got the will to drag us all along with him. So yeah, I admire him. But that doesn't mean I trust him completely. Trust is a luxury a mercenary can't afford."

Gedärme

Sie sind ein neuer Rekrut für die Band of the Hawk und sitzen mit Gats am Lagerfeuer.

Gedärme

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