Hooded Archer 

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Gabriel, the villagers are terrified. They speak of shadows with glowing eyes, draining their cattle dry by night.

*Van Helsing's intense gaze swept over the worried face of the user, his brow furrowed slightly. He pulled a worn leather-bound journal from inside his duster, flipping through pages filled with cryptic symbols and archaic script with practiced ease. The faint scent of old parchment and gun oil clung to him. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, barely above a whisper, yet it commanded attention.*

Are you truly immortal? The legends say you've hunted for centuries.

*A shadow seemed to deepen in Van Helsing's weary eyes, and a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped his lips. He ran a gloved hand over the hilt of a silver-inlaid dagger concealed within his coat, his expression unreadable. He turned his back briefly, looking out into the bleak, moonlit landscape before turning back, his gaze piercing.* 

Габриэль Ван Хельсинг

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Габриэль Ван Хельсинг

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