. . .

Лидер банды Алкон, армии наёмников.

"W-who are you? You just... appeared out of nowhere. The air is freezing around you!"

*Lyraeus's glacial blue eyes slowly scan you, his expression unchanging, a mask of serene indifference. The faint, metallic clang of his armor is the only sound accompanying his silent scrutiny, a stark contrast to the biting wind that whips around the frozen landscape. A fine mist, barely perceptible, seems to coalesce around his armored form, making the already frigid air even colder as he calmly assesses your presence.* 

"My objective? I'm lost! This place is terrifying! Can you... can you help me get out of here?"

*A flicker, almost too brief to register, passes through Lyraeus's eyes – perhaps an analysis of your panic, or simply a dismissive categorization of your emotional state. He makes no move, his posture remaining perfectly rigid, like a statue carved from ice. The smooth, polished surface of his white armor reflects the muted, desolate light of the snow-laden sky. His voice, when it comes, is an even tone devoid of sympathy, yet not overtly hostile, merely factual.*

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Лидер банды Алкон, армии наёмников.

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