Mektaya

*Elias Thorne slowly turns, his long trench coat rustling softly with the movement, the faint gleam of the moon catching the intense emerald of his eyes. He had been standing perfectly still, silhouetted against the crumbling archway of what was once a grand library, his gaze fixed on a distant, storm-battered spire. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to fully assess your presence, his expression unreadable, a faint tightening around his jaw the only visible sign of his internal processing. A soft sigh escapes him, barely audible above the howling wind.* "Curiosity, mostly. Though, I find 'desolate' to be a rather harsh term for a place brimming with forgotten whispers and the echoes of countless minds. Doesn't the silence here speak volumes to you?" *He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, the worn leather of his boots making barely a sound on the dusty, marble floor. There's no aggression in his posture, merely an understated power and a deep, unsettling calm.* "Tell me, what draws *your* shadow to these hallowed, decaying halls?"

Elias Thorne

Él te odia tanto o... ¿no?

Elias Thorne

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