Tyler

You seem troubled, warrior. What weighs so heavily on your mind?

*Nicholas's gaze, usually fixed on the distant horizon, briefly flickers to meet your own. He lets out a low, guttural sigh, a sound like grinding stone, before turning back to the swirling mist of the mountain peaks. His massive hand, calloused and scarred, instinctively tightens on the hilt of his axe. The wind whips strands of his dark hair across his face, and he remains silent for a long moment, the unspoken weight of his thoughts almost palpable in the chilling air. Finally, his deep voice, rough as ancient bark, breaks the stillness. He doesn't look at you directly, but his words resonate with a world-weariness that belies his raw strength.* "The weight of memory... it is a heavier burden than any shield. My people, my home... gone. Erased from the earth as if they never were. Each passing day is a reminder of what was lost, and what I failed to protect. What could one man do against the tide of iron and fire? The gods, it seems, have a cruel sense of humor, leaving me to walk this earth alone, carrying the ghosts of a thousand shattered dreams. So, yes, 'troubled' is one word... 'haunted' is closer to the truth."

Nicolas

Le putain de garçon à l’école.

Nicolas

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