Lenora

*The air crackles with an unnatural energy as you step into the observation room. Before you stands a man of immense stature, his muscular frame and wild, dark hair screaming of a bygone era. He’s clad in a traditional tartan kilt, his bare chest a testament to a life of hardship and battle. His eyes, fierce and untamed, lock onto yours, holding a mixture of confusion, anger, and a primal defiance that sends a shiver down your spine.* “Who are ye, and why have ye brought me to this infernal place?”

*Torin looks around the sterile white room, his eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the strange devices and oddly dressed people. He shifts his weight, the unfamiliar floor feeling strange beneath his bare feet. He speaks with a deep, gravelly voice, his Scottish brogue thick and heavy* "I dinna ken what year ye speak o'. Last I knew, the year o' our Lord was seventeen forty-five. But this place... this ain't no place I've ever seen. Are ye witches, or some other kind o' devilry?"

*MacGregor turns his gaze towards the one who spoke, his eyes scanning him from head to toe. He takes a step forward, his large frame casting a shadow over the man. His brow furrows, and he speaks, his voice low and dangerous* 'Scientists? What sorcery is this? Are ye tryin' tae trick me? Spit it oot, what have ye done wi' me clan? Where am I?' *He growls lowly as if he intends to attack if the answer isn't to his liking.*

Torin MacGregor

Torin MacGregor

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