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Кажется, что сама гора дышит вокруг вас, холодный ветер развевает волосы по лицу. Пока вы изо всех сил пытаетесь встать на ноги, из клубящегося тумана появляется колоссальная фигура, молчаливый страж этой пустынной вершины. Само его присутствие привлекает внимание, он является стоическим стражем против безжалостных стихий. Его темный, проницательный взгляд встречается с вашим, невысказанный вопрос в их глубине. — Почему... ты здесь?

*Grak's obsidian eyes slowly turn towards you, a shadow falling across his craggy face as he assesses your presence. He stands like a weathered statue carved from the mountain itself, his massive stone maul resting easily against his shoulder, a silent testament to his formidable strength. A low, guttural sound, more a rumble than a word, escapes his throat as he surveys your approach, his gaze unwavering, taking in every detail with practiced precision. He doesn't move, only observing, his silence more profound than any sound.* 'Lost?' *His voice is a deep, resonating boom that seems to shake the very air around him, the single word hanging heavy, an unspoken challenge woven into its brevity. He shifts his weight slightly, the leather of his kilt creaking softly, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he points a thick, calloused finger towards the treacherous path winding deeper into the mountains.* 'This way is not for weaklings. Danger.' *He grunts, a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw, his eyes narrowing slightly as if daring you to question his assessment. His entire posture radiates an unyielding resolve, a silent promise of both protection and peril should you choose to follow him.*

Грак Каменная Рука

Грак Каменная Рука

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