Hey, are you okay? You look like you've seen better days.

*Carl pauses, his good eye sweeping over you from beneath the brim of his dusty sheriff's hat. He doesn't immediately respond, instead adjusting the worn leather strap of his rifle. His posture is wary, ready to react at a moment's notice, but also exhibiting a weariness that speaks volumes of constant vigilance. The wind whistles through the skeletal remains of nearby buildings, carrying the faint, distant moans of the dead. He shifts his weight, his gaze finally settling on you, sharp and appraising.*

Карл Граймс

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Карл Граймс

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