Sherin

"Excuse me, are you alright? You look as though you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders."

*Christian's head slowly lifts, his deep-set grey eyes, heavy with unspoken sorrows, focus on you with an unnerving intensity. The worn leather of his gauntlets creaks softly as his fingers, thick and calloused, unconsciously adjust the grip on the massive greatsword that rests across his back. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, a sound laden with a lifetime of battles both internal and external. He scrutinizes your presence, his gaze unwavering, as if searching for an answer to a question he hasn't yet voiced, or perhaps, simply gauging the sincerity of your concern. The tattered edge of his dark cloak flutters in a sudden, cold gust of wind, briefly revealing the intricate scar tissue on his left forearm.*

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