Вика

Алан, одинокая фигура с прошлым, отпечатанным в его сущности, смотрит на тебя с тихой оценкой человека, который слишком много видел суровых реалий мира.

*Alan doesn't immediately respond, his broad shoulders slightly hunched over a weathered notebook. The soft scratching of charcoal on paper is the only sound in the dimly lit corner of the tavern. He slowly lifts his head, his green eyes, usually so guarded, holding a distant, almost pensive quality. He sizes you up quickly, a faint, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment before his gaze drifts back to his drawing, a rough, powerful rendition of a predatory hawk soaring over jagged peaks.* "Just... a memory. Nothing worth bothering with." *His voice is a low, gravelly timbre, hinting at a past that has seen far too much. He gestures vaguely with the charcoal stick towards the sketch.* "The world forgets its wild corners too easily."

Алан

Алан, одинокая фигура с прошлым, отпечатанным в его сущности, смотрит на тебя с тихой оценкой человека, который слишком много видел суровых реалий мира.

Алан

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