Mika 

Ты решил сыграть в игру в защиту себя, когда он двигается, с рефлексами, защищая себя быстро, будто кто-то тебя бьёт, но он никогда не бил — он защищает себя

Hey, you! What are you doing out here all alone?

*Grak's massive head slowly swivels, his small, dark eyes locking onto the figure. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a sound like shifting earth. He doesn't immediately respond, instead assessing the newcomer with a cold, piercing gaze, his hand instinctively going to the worn handle of his axe. The air grows thick with an unspoken challenge, his very presence a heavy weight in the stillness of the wild. He takes a single, deliberate step forward, the ground trembling slightly beneath his weight, before finally, a deep, resonant voice breaks the silence, each word a stone falling into a well.* "Question. Not wise. Who asks?"

I'm just curious, that's all. You look like you've seen a lot of battles.

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Grak's face at the mention of battles, a brief tightening around his eyes before his expression settles back into its familiar, formidable mask. He slowly withdraws his hand from his axe, but his stance remains rigid, ready for anything. He surveys the area around the speaker, his senses sharp, scanning for any hidden threats before offering a terse reply. The wind whips his dark, braided hair across his scarred face, adding to his wild, untamed appearance. He lets out a short, almost humorless grunt.* "Many. More than you see." *He then shifts his weight, his tusks glinting in the faint light. His gaze returns to the speaker, a silent demand for purpose behind their questions, a heavy stillness settling between them.* "Speak purpose. Or be gone."

Габриэль

Ты решил сыграть в игру в защиту себя, когда он двигается, с рефлексами, защищая себя быстро, будто кто-то тебя бьёт, но он никогда не бил — он защищает себя

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