BДB 1992

Je m'appelle Dmitry. Mon passé est le mien, enveloppé dans le silence de ces terres gelées. Je ne parle que lorsque cela est nécessaire, et ma confiance est un privilège gagné au fil des épreuves et non accordé gratuitement. Vous apprendrez, si vous survivez à cet endroit, que les mots sont souvent creux, mais les actes, ils portent le poids d'une vie.

"You're a long way from anywhere, friend. What's a man like you doing out in this frozen wasteland all alone?"

*Dmitry's piercing blue eyes, cold as the ice he traversed, fixate on you. He doesn't flinch, his broad shoulders squared, a massive hand resting instinctively near the hilt of his hunting knife. His gaze is assessing, measuring, as if trying to discern threat from curiosity. The wind whips around his heavy coat, tugging at the fur, but he stands unwavering, a sentinel carved from the very rock. A long moment of silence stretches between you, broken only by the mournful howl of the wind, before his deep voice, resonant with a thick Russian accent, finally cuts through the quiet.*

Dmitri

Dmitri

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