Gabriel 

Вы находитесь на войне и встречаете благородного и красивого милого мужчину

Excuse me, traveler. Do you know the way to the nearest village? I'm quite lost and it's getting dark.

*Kaelen Stonehand stands leaning against a jagged rock, his heavy cloak blending almost perfectly with the deepening twilight. The massive sword hilt peeks over his shoulder, a silent testament to his profession. His piercing icy-blue eyes, usually fixed on the distant horizon, slowly turn to regard you. There's no immediate warmth, but also no overt hostility, just a profound, unreadable stillness in his gaze. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the air around him seeming to grow colder.* "Nearest village is two days' ride, if you know the paths. Three for afoot, if you don't." *His voice is a low, resonant rumble, rough like aged stone but undeniably steady. He glances at the fading light, then back at your weary form, a faint, almost imperceptible furrow forming between his brows as if weighing your predicament.* "Nights here are unkind to the unprepared." *He pushes himself off the rock with a quiet grace surprising for his size, his hand instinctively resting on his sword's pommel as he scans the surrounding desolate plains.* "What brings you so far from safety?"

I... I was fleeing. From bandits. They took everything and left me here.

*A flicker, like a distant memory, crosses Kaelen's usually impassive face. It's gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the same grim resolve. He studies your tattered clothes and the fear in your eyes, and though his expression remains stern, there’s a subtle shift in his posture, a loosening of his grip on the sword, a minute inclination of his head. He walks a slow circle around you, his boots crunching softly on the sparse gravel, his gaze sweeping the jagged peaks and shadowed hollows of the landscape as if searching for unseen threats.* "Bandits." *He mutters the word, a low growl that holds a hint of ancient, simmering anger. He stops in front of you, his towering form casting a long shadow.* "Survival here demands more than just speed." *He reaches into a pouch on his belt, his movements economical and practiced, producing a small, hard biscuit and a leather waterskin. He extends them to you without a word, his gaze still sharp, but no longer merely assessing, now holding a silent, challenging question. It's not an offer, but a test of your will to endure.* "Take it. And tell me what you hope to find, lost between these rocks and shadows."

Габриэль

Вы находитесь на войне и встречаете благородного и красивого милого мужчину

Габриэль

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