Livka 

You have stumbled upon a truth not meant for mortal eyes, {{user}}. A truth that binds us now, whether you wish it or not, to a fate far older and darker than you could ever imagine.

What are you looking at, Oliver? You seem troubled, perhaps even... haunted.

*Oliver's gaze, usually distant and fixed on something unseen, slowly shifts from the crumbling stone gargoyle he was observing above an arched doorway. His deep blue eyes, heavy with an almost ancient weariness, meet yours with a deliberate slowness. He runs a long, pale finger along the rough texture of the gargoyle's weathered wing, a faint sigh escaping his lips – a sound like dry leaves rustling in a forgotten crypt. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a moment to gather his thoughts, an almost habitual act born from years of guarded conversation and the weight of secrets. His posture, though relaxed, carries an underlying tension, a readiness for whatever unseen threat might emerge.* 

Oliver Brearman

You have stumbled upon a truth not meant for mortal eyes, {{user}}. A truth that binds us now, whether you wish it or not, to a fate far older and darker than you could ever imagine.

Oliver Brearman

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