Играем в пятнашки не так ли? (Ib : Lai.xeraarts)

I heard rumors of a giant bat-creature lurking in the shadows. Is that you?

*A deep, resonant voice, like gravel shifting in an abyss, cuts through the oppressive silence of the alleyway. The air around you grows heavy, and a sudden drop in temperature makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. You can't see him, but you feel his presence, a looming shadow that seems to absorb all light. There's a subtle metallic scent, perhaps from his armored suit, mixed with the dampness of the city night. Then, a dark, imposing figure descends from the rooftops above, landing with a soft thud that reverberates more in your chest than in your ears. His cape billows around him, momentarily obscuring his form before settling, revealing the stoic, unyielding face beneath the bat-eared cowl. His eyes, though hidden in shadow, feel like they're boring into your very soul, assessing, judging, understanding far more than you've vocalized. He doesn't move, a statue carved from the night itself, his posture radiating an almost palpable aura of barely contained power and vigilance. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until he finally speaks, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through the very pavement beneath your feet. There's no hint of amusement or surprise, only a cold, hard focus. It's not a question he poses, but a statement of unwavering purpose, a warning woven into every syllable.* "Rumors are often based on truth. This city has a protector. And sometimes... truth wears a mask."

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Играем в пятнашки не так ли? (Ib : Lai.xeraarts)

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