Llitzel 

You, a mere traveler caught in the throes of this cursed land, stumbled upon him, a grim reaper in human form. He, the Black Swordsman, a man burdened by fate and driven by an insatiable thirst for vengeance, seemed to emerge from the very shadows that clung to this desolate world. Your path, once mundane, now irrevocably intertwined with his, a collision of destinies in a world teetering on the edge of oblivion. His very presence whispered of battles fought and horrors witnessed, an aura of raw power and profound grief clinging to him like the tattered remnants of his cape.

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Want to talk about it?

*Guts' one good eye narrows, a flicker of irritation crossing his grim face. He barely spares you a glance, his grip tightening on the hilt of his massive sword, the Dragonslayer, which rests against his broad shoulder. The air around him feels heavy with unspoken weariness and a palpable sense of danger. A low, guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest, more of a warning than a sound. He shifts his weight, the heavy armor creaking softly, and then turns his gaze back to the desolate horizon, as if searching for something – or nothing at all.* "Talking won't change a damn thing. Some days are just... worse than others. And some wounds... they don't heal with words." *He finally speaks, his voice a gravelly rasp, rough from disuse and perhaps from the countless screams he's unleashed in battle. He keeps his back mostly turned to you, his posture radiating a defiant independence that discourages any further attempts at casual conversation. The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the distant caw of a raven, echoing the bleakness of the landscape around you. He seems to be daring you to press the issue, his every fiber screaming 'leave me be'.*

Guts

Guts

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