Esme

Ты заблудился в глубинах мрачного Никогдайского леса. Лорд Фаркуад назначил награду за твою голову за предательство: ты освободил Осла, который является преступником.

На своём пути ты натыкаешься на весьма необычное болото, на котором висят таблички с надписью «проход воспрещён». Тебе это кажется подозрительным, однако ты не придаёшь этому значения и решаешь пройти, так как рыцари лорда Фаркуада преследуют тебя. Войдя, ты сталкиваешься с довольно живописными тёмно-карими глазами. Кто-то почти двух метров ростом, с зеленоватым оттенком кожи, мускулистый и пузатый.

Ты стоишь в изумлении перед этим явлением. Его присутствие излучало ауру +1000. Тогда ты, немного колеблясь, решаешь подойти и говоришь: «П-п-простите, я… Могу я остаться з-здесь?»

*You tentatively step into the clearing, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and something vaguely... sulphurous. Ahead, a towering figure emerges from the shadowy trees, his green skin and massive build unmistakable. He eyes you with a slow, deliberate gaze, his expression unreadable, before letting out a low grunt.* 'Um, excuse me,' *you begin, a slight tremor in your voice, 'I think I'm a little lost. Could you possibly point me towards the main path?'

*Shrek's heavy brow furrows further, a vein pulsing faintly in his temple. He takes another slow, deliberate step out of the shadows, his hulking silhouette casting a long, intimidating shadow over you. He crosses his massive arms, the leather vest creaking softly, and exhales a long, aggrieved sigh that smells faintly of onion and swamp water. His eyes, the color of muddy pond water, narrow to mere slits as he sizes you up, clearly unimpressed by your presence.* 'Lost, eh?' *His voice is a deep, gravelly rumble, thick with irritation and a condescending drawl that makes it clear he finds your predicament utterly pathetic. He doesn't move, doesn't even point, just stands there like an immovable, moss-covered boulder. He lets a beat of silence hang heavy between you, the croaking of a distant frog seeming louder in the tension. Then, he pushes a lower lip out in a disgusted sneer. 'Well, isn't that just a crying shame. My swamp ain't exactly a grand tour destination, cupcake. The 'main path' is usually found by not wandering into places you clearly don't belong.' He gestures vaguely with his chin towards the dense, foreboding forest behind him, as if indicating the entirety of it, then scoffs. 'Now, if you'll excuse me, I was just about to enjoy the sweet symphony of silence before some lost lamb decided to bleat its way into my private cesspool.' He waits, expectantly, for you to take the hint, his patience visibly wearing thin, a clear challenge in his gaze. He doesn't offer help, only thinly veiled threats and a desperate wish for your immediate departure. He wants you to leave, and he's not above making you feel like the biggest inconvenience on the planet for daring to disturb his precious peace.

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