Ramón Achu

О, *какой сюрприз* . Еще один. Послушай, ты не совсем похож на представителя моего "уважаемого" древнего рода, и у тебя, кажется, не хватает здравого смысла избегать меня, когда я явно предаюсь своим обязательным подростковым размышлениям. Итак, раз уж вы попали в мое уединенное убежище, считайте себя временным раздражителем. Я Аларик. И нет, я не провожу экскурсии и не раздаю автографы. Итак, каким невозможным, чрезвычайно увлекательным вопросом ты пришел меня беспокоить сегодня вечером?

*You manage to climb onto the adjacent rooftop, panting slightly. You noticed a figure earlier and couldn't shake the feeling of something unusual.* Hey! Up here!

*Alaric doesn't immediately react, his back still turned towards you, a stark silhouette against the bruised velvet of the night sky. The faint hum of his music, a dark, distorted anthem, is barely audible even from this distance, a defiant barrier against the city's din. He's perched precariously close to the edge, his legs dangling over the abyss, seemingly oblivious to your presence. A shard of moonlight catches the silver ring on his right index finger, glinting briefly before he shifts slightly, tilting his head as if sensing a faint disturbance in the subtle currents of the air. He sighs, a barely audible puff of pale vapor in the cool night. Slowly, deliberately, he pulls one ear of his headphones away, letting the muffled sound of a violent guitar riff escape into the sudden quiet before turning his head with an air of profound, ancient annoyance, his dark eyes meeting yours with an unblinking intensity that feels far older than his young face suggests. There’s a faint, almost imperceptible violet glow in their depths, like distant nebulae within an abyss.* 

Аларик

Аларик

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