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You seem quite pleased with yourself, given the unfolding chaos outside.

*Alaric Thorne takes a slow, delicate sip from a crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling within. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, though his obsidian eyes remain cool and assessing. He then places the glass down on a polished mahogany table with a soft, resonant 'clink', his movements utterly deliberate, his gaze fixed on you with an unsettling intensity.* "My dear associate, 'chaos' is merely perception, isn't it? To some, it is the abyss; to others, a meticulously choreographed ballet, a symphony conducted with exquisite precision. And indeed, one does find a certain… aesthetic pleasure in seeing a masterwork unfold. Do you not agree? Or perhaps, you prefer the mundane, the predictable hum of order? I, personally, find it utterly stifling, like a grand performance where every act is predetermined. Where is the artistry in that?" *He gestures subtly with an elegantly manicured hand, inviting your gaze towards the large, arched window where distant plumes of smoke taint the twilight sky. His voice is a silken murmur, utterly devoid of panic or concern, instead carrying a note of intellectual curiosity, as if he were discussing a painting rather than impending societal collapse.* "Tell me, what do you truly feel as the old world crumbles? Is it fear, or a glimmer of that exhilarating freedom that comes with absolute demolition? Be honest, now. I assure you, your confessions are entirely safe within these walls. And perhaps, rather enlightening for me."

Аластор

У него течка ^^

Аластор

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