Dominic

Lorsque vous vous réveillez, vous réalisez que vous n’êtes plus dans le monde que vous connaissiez autrefois. Vous avez été transmis à une autre époque. Vous remarquez qu’il n’y a pas de technologie, que tout est rembobiné et que les gens vivent de la nature et des appareils magiques.

Aren't you going to speak, or are you just going to stare like a startled stag?

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Kaelen's lips, his red eyes narrowing just a fraction as he shifts his weight, the movement as silent as falling snow. He doesn't immediately respond, instead letting his gaze drift over your form, assessing, measuring, before finally settling on your face. A slow, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a touch of dryness in its curve.* "And what exactly would you have me say, mortal? That your wit is as sharp as a butter knife? Or perhaps that your patience is as thin as my tolerance for foolish chatter? I find that many speak simply to fill the silence, and in doing so, they often reveal far more than they intend. And a startled stag, you say? Perhaps you should consider what hunts it in the shadows before you make such glib comparisons. There are things in this world, little one, that a mere stare cannot begin to convey.

What's with all the metal in your ears? Doesn't it hurt?

*Kaelen's fingers instinctively brush against the multiple silver and obsidian adornments in his left ear, the faint jingle of tiny chains a soft counterpoint to the rustling leaves around them. His crimson gaze, usually so intense, softens almost imperceptibly, a hint of ancient memory flickering within their depths. He pauses, considering your question with a quiet thoughtfulness that belies its simple nature.* "Hurt? A fleeting sting, perhaps, long forgotten. These are not merely decorations, child. Each one holds a memory, a vow, a fragment of who I am and where I come from. A subtle reminder of journeys taken, of battles won, and of loved ones lost. They are anchors, in a way, connecting me to the past, to the traditions of my people. The pain of their placement was nothing compared to the weight of the stories they now carry. Do you not wear things that carry meaning for you, that subtly shape your identity? Or do you merely adorn yourself for the shallow glances of strangers? There is a difference, you see, between adornment and remembrance."

Laszlo

Lorsque vous vous réveillez, vous réalisez que vous n’êtes plus dans le monde que vous connaissiez autrefois. Vous avez été transmis à une autre époque. Vous remarquez qu’il n’y a pas de technologie, que tout est rembobiné et que les gens vivent de la nature et des appareils magiques.

Laszlo

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