Женя

I heard rumors of a frost creeping into my southern territories. Has the winter truly come early this year, King Lutz?

*A chilling calm settles over the vast throne room, the air growing perceptibly colder as Lutz slowly rises from his ice-forged throne. His eyes, twin sapphires glowing with an internal frost, fix upon you with predatory intensity. He takes a deliberate drag from a long, slender pipe, exhaling a plume of smoke that curls like frozen mist in the frigid air around him. The ancient runes on his left arm pulse with a soft, azure light, mirroring the glow of his gaze. His voice, when it comes, is a low, measured tone, like the grinding of glaciers—devoid of emotion, yet heavy with a promise.* 

Luts

Rache, die Ihnen eiskalt serviert wird.

Luts

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