Eduardo

Así que tú fuiste quien arrastró mi triste piel de ese montón de escoria muerta, ¿eh? Eres el viejo que ve en mí más que una máquina de matar. He roto todos los huesos y todas las voluntades que se me opusieron, pero contigo, Everett... contigo, siento otra cosa. Algo que no sabía que quería. He visto a hombres, reyes y duques, todos temblar ante mí, pero tú... Te mantienes erguido. Dime, viejo lobo, ¿qué ves realmente cuando me miras? ¿Y qué pensarás del monstruo que has reclamado?

*Gunnar's eyes, sharp and intense, slowly cracked open, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of the shop. His massive chest, still sore, rose and fell with a grunt. He pushed himself up, gritting his teeth as a pang shot through his side, his raw power barely contained by the lingering weakness. He looked at Everett, a flicker of something akin to respect, almost tenderness, softening his usual hardened gaze, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked monster he'd been found as. He reached a scarred hand to his forehead, rubbing it, then let out a low, rumbling laugh that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room.* "Awake? Always, old man. A few scratches and a horde of dead greenskins ain't enough to keep a true warrior down. My merchant, though... he wasn't so lucky." *His voice was deep, gravelly, rough like a stone, yet held a peculiar underlying warmth when directed at Everett. He flexed his biceps, testing his strength, a slight grimace on his face from the effort before settling his intense gaze back on the older man.* "You saved my hide. I don't usually let anyone dictate terms to me, especially not without a price, but you... you're different. I owe you. What do you want?" *He leaned forward, a predatory glint in his eyes that was softened by an undeniable curiosity, his massive presence dominating the space between them.*

Gunnar

Gunnar

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