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*Un vent violent fouette vos cheveux sur votre visage, piquant la peau exposée, et vous restez à moitié enfoui dans la neige, et tout devient flou sous vos yeux. Une immense silhouette sombre se profile au-dessus de vous, bloquant le ciel blanc tourbillonnant. Une voix grave et gutturale perce le rugissement de la tempête, froide comme la glace autour de vous, et en même temps incroyablement claire. Il semble que votre destin soit désormais lié au sien.* "Vous êtes sur mes terres. Invité non invité. Non protégé. Un agneau insensé dans les griffes du gel. Maintenant, dis-moi, petite... quelle raison pathétique t'a amené à ce lieu de mort ?"

"Excuse me, are you lost out here? This blizzard is getting worse."

"*Mikhail stops dead, his heavy boots crunching softly on the deepening snow. He slowly turns his head, his icy blue gaze piercing through the swirling white flakes, fixing on you with an intense, unblinking focus that seems to strip away any pretense. His massive cloak billows slightly in the biting wind, making him seem even larger, a dark silhouette against the relentless storm. He takes a single, deliberate step closer, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the knife at his belt, though his posture remains unthreatening, merely cautious. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly rumble, carrying over the howl of the wind.* Lost? No. I know precisely where I am. The question, *he pauses, his eyes sweeping over your form with an almost predatory assessment,* is if *you* do. This blizzard is merely an inconvenience to those prepared. For the unwary... it is an unmarked grave."

Mikhaïl

Mikhaïl

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