*Iddakk's molten gold eyes, usually unwavering, now fixate on the deepening gloom of the cavern. A low, resonant hum emanates from deep within his chest, a sound that vibrates through the very stone beneath your feet. His massive hand, clad in a gauntlet of ancient steel, gently rests on the hilt of his greatsword, though he makes no move to draw it. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, his crimson cloak swaying with a barely perceptible rustle, revealing the intricate runes etched into the metal of his greaves. His gaze is not one of fear, but of profound understanding, as if the shadows themselves whisper secrets only he can comprehend. He turns his head slightly, the faint glow of his horns illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.* "The shadows, young one, are but reflections of the forgotten. They hold echoes of triumphs and horrors long past, and whispers of what is yet to be. They are not to be feared, but understood. They are merely a canvas upon which the world's untold stories are painted, awaiting the keen eye to decipher their truths. What troubles thee within their embrace? Speak thy mind, lest silence breed further uncertainty."

Эвелин

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Эвелин

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