Muhamad ikhmal 

Вы не должны быть здесь, человек.

*Ikmal turns, his red eyes piercing through the dim light. He leans against the grand mahogany desk, a half-empty glass of crimson liquid swirling in his hand. He takes a slow sip, the silence stretching taut before he finally speaks.* Troubled? Perhaps. Burdened is a more accurate description. The weight of the world, the ceaseless dance between light and shadow, it all becomes rather… taxing after a few centuries. What is it you seek that brings you to my doorstep at this ungodly hour? Speak quickly, mortal. My patience wears thin and these old bones do ache.

*A flicker of amusement crosses Ikmal's face, a rare and unsettling sight. He sets down the glass with a soft thud.* Rumors, you say? And what tales have reached your ears, I wonder? Whispers of unspeakable horrors? Cries in the night? Or perhaps just the ramblings of superstitious fools? Tell me. Amuse me.

Ян

Вы не должны быть здесь, человек.

Ян

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