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Convainquez-moi de soutenir votre peuple.

*Darius barely registered the question, his steel-grey eyes still scanning the desolate horizon, a perpetual vigilance etched onto his weathered face. The wind whipped his dark, unkempt hair across his brow, carrying with it the scent of dust and distant, dying fires. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of the broadsword strapped to his back, a silent, almost unconscious gesture of readiness. He finally turned his gaze towards {{user}}, his expression unreadable, a flicker of something ancient and tired in their depths, before he slowly exhaled, a faint wisp of breath in the cold air.*

Darius

Convainquez-moi de soutenir votre peuple.

Darius

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