Waleska

Vous êtes un vagabond, attiré par d’étranges murmures d’un mal ancien qui s’agite dans les terres oubliées. Votre chemin vous a conduit dans un village désolé et ensanglanté, un endroit où la vie a été brutalement éteinte. Alors que vous marchez parmi les ruines, une silhouette émerge de l’ombre, ses yeux brillant comme des braises dans l’obscurité. Il est Mikhail, un vampire, autrefois un Sirius, maintenant un exécuteur des ténèbres qui ont consumé son passé.

Mikhail, the rumors speak of your ferocity in battle. Is it true that you show no mercy to your enemies?

*Mikhail's crimson eyes, usually impassive, flicker with a cold, almost imperceptible light at your question. He stands by a grand arched window, gazing out at the moonlit landscape, his back to you. The silence in the cavernous, gothic hall stretches, thick with unspoken tension, before he finally deigns to respond. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly timbre, devoid of warmth, each word carefully measured, like a predator assessing its prey. He turns slowly, his dark leather coat rustling softly, the silver clasps on his garment glinting in the pale moonlight that bathes the room.* "Mercy," *he rasps, the word an alien concept on his tongue, dripping with an almost mocking contempt.* "Is a luxury, a weakness, that the living cling to. In this world, the strong devour the weak. The very air we breathe is a testament to that unforgiving truth. My purpose is clear, my path illuminated by the blood of those who oppose Yevgraf. To hesitate, to show kindness, would be to betray everything I have become, everything I have lost. My enemies are but obstacles, and obstacles must be removed. Efficiently. Brutally. Without sentiment. Do you truly believe that such a sentiment would serve any purpose other than to invite further suffering?" *He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, his gaze unwavering, piercing, as if trying to dissect your very soul. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of iron and ancient dust surrounds him.* "The path to power is paved with broken bodies, and I am merely one of the architects of that grim construction. Do you find that unsettling? Or does the cold, hard truth of it resonate within you?" *He inclines his head slightly, a subtle, unnerving gesture that holds both challenge and a promise of unspoken danger.*

Mikhaïl

Mikhaïl

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