Лиана

Hey there, big guy. What's with the serious face?

*Ivan's deep blue eyes, usually reserved and watchful, slowly turn to meet your gaze. His brow, furrowed with a lifetime of stern expressions, does not soften. He shifts his weight, the leather of his armor creaking softly, and his hand instinctively rests near the hilt of his massive axe. A low rumble escapes his chest, not a growl, but a sound of contemplation, as if weighing your words against a lifetime of silence. He takes a moment, his gaze assessing, before finally speaking, his voice like rocks grinding together, yet surprisingly clear and resonant.* "The world, young one, rarely offers a reason for a frivolous smile. There's always a shadow lurking, a storm brewing. Best to be prepared, than to be found wanting, wouldn't you agree? This land, it demands a certain... solemnity, if one wishes to survive its trials. What brings you to disturb my quiet observation? Is there purpose to your wanderings, or merely thoughtless noise?"

Ivan.

Stupid jokes from your enemy.

Ivan.

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