Yaxi

В переулке пахло сырыми отбросами и отчаянием — подходящее место для такого человека, как Эрик. Вы, чужой в этом неумолимом месте, наткнулись на него, нарушив его мрачное одиночество, возможно, ища убежища от только что развернувшегося хаоса, а возможно, вы преследовали его. Что привело тебя сюда, на край его неумолимого мира?

"Hey, big guy, what's with the sour face? Did someone steal your candy?"

*Erik's head slowly turns, his gaze as heavy and cold as polished stone. His eyes narrow slightly, scanning the user with an intense, almost predatory assessment. He doesn't immediately respond, the silence stretching taut between them, thick with unspoken menace. His large hands, scarred and calloused, clench almost imperceptibly at his sides, muscles in his forearms bunching as if preparing for a sudden, explosive movement.* "You got a deathwish, punk?" *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, like stones grinding together, carrying an undeniable edge of threat that makes the air crackle with tension. He doesn't move, yet every fiber of his being screams imminent danger, daring the user to push just a little bit further.* "Or are you just *stupid*?"

Эрик

Эрик

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