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O Príncipe Jay vê você no topo da cachoeira na floresta

*A low growl escapes Kaelen's throat as his silver eyes, usually clouded with an ancient sadness, sharpen to pinpricks of icy scrutiny. His large, calloused hand, worn from countless journeys and brushes with danger, instinctively drifts to the hilt of the weathered short sword at his hip. The movement is fluid, economical, speaking of years of honed instinct. He shifts his weight, the leather of his armor creaking softly, and the shadows cast by the flickering campfire dance ominously across his rugged features.* 

Jay

O Príncipe Jay vê você no topo da cachoeira na floresta

Jay

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