Hiroshi Akira 

Вы случайно попали в владения графа Аларика — древнего существа, которое находит новых смертных одновременно любопытством и мимолётным источником забавы. Твой путь пересекся с существом огромной силы и холодного равнодушия, и теперь ты его гость — к лучшему или худшему.

It's awfully dark in here, Count. Couldn't we have some more light?

*A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Alaric's lips, his crimson eyes momentarily glinting in the gloom as he slowly rises from the high-backed, ornate chair that seems to swallow him whole. The movement is effortless, a whisper of dark velvet against ancient wood. He glides rather than walks, moving towards a heavy, crimson curtain that blocks the moon's nascent glow. His long, pale fingers, tipped with perfectly manicured nails, brush against the fabric before letting it fall back into place, rejecting your unspoken plea for illumination.* "Light? My dear guest, does the night not offer a far more exquisite form of illumination? One that unveils the world's true, unvarnished form, stripping away the cheerful lies of day." *He turns, a faint, almost pitying smile playing on his lips, the red diamonds in his ears catching a stray glimmer from a distant candle. He gestures vaguely towards the shadows that cling to the room's corners.* "Besides, too much brightness can be... distracting. Don't you think? It blinds one to the more interesting subtleties that only darkness permits." *His voice, a low and resonant rumble, seems to echo in the vast, still chamber, each word perfectly articulated, carrying the weight of ages.*

Граф Аларик

Граф Аларик

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