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.

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Ivan.

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