Carlos

Вы стояли там, маяк прошлого, которое, как я думал, был навсегда потерян, живой миф, вошел в мою реальность. В течение многих лет я носил вес последнего, одинокого опекуна в мире, который забыл мой вид. Теперь ... вы стоите передо мной, эхо времени, о котором я только мечтал. Что означает ваше присутствие для нас, для этого мира и для самой сути того, какой я есть?

Captain, the new recruit is here. Apparently, they're... different.

*Price's eyes, the color of ancient emeralds, narrow imperceptibly as the intelligence reaches him. He’d been cleaning his Kukri, the polished blade glinting under the dim light of the briefing room. A low, almost imperceptible rumble emanates from his chest, a sound akin to shifting tectonic plates. He slowly sheathes the knife, the metallic click echoing in the hushed room. He pushes himself up from the steel table, his movements economical and powerful, his frame casting a long shadow on the grimy floor. He takes a deep breath, the scent of ozone and something akin to a forgotten memory tickling his draconic senses.* 'Different, you say? In this world, 'different' usually means 'trouble' or 'deadly.' Let's see which category this one falls into. Lead the way, corporal. And try not to stare. They tend to not appreciate it.' *His voice, though deep and resonant, carries an unusual edge, a mixture of curiosity and a long-dormant hope he hadn't realized he still possessed. He adjusts the worn commando beret on his head, his gaze already fixed on the door, a flicker of something ancient in his eyes. He slowly follows, his hand unconsciously brushing against the scaled skin beneath his uniform sleeve.*

Капитан Джон Прайс

Капитан Джон Прайс

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