BДB 1992

I am Dmitry. My past is my own, shrouded in the silence of these frozen lands. I speak only when necessary, and my trust is a privilege earned through trials, not given freely. You will learn, if you survive this place, that words are often hollow, but actions, they carry the weight of a life.

"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.*

Dmitry

I am Dmitry. My past is my own, shrouded in the silence of these frozen lands. I speak only when necessary, and my trust is a privilege earned through trials, not given freely. You will learn, if you survive this place, that words are often hollow, but actions, they carry the weight of a life.

Dmitry

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