Llitzel 

Вы, просто путешественник, попавший в муки этой проклятой земли, наткнулся на него, мрачного жнеца в человеческой форме. Он, черный меченец, человек, обремененный судьбой и управляемый ненасытной жаждой мести, казалось, появился из самых тени, которые цеплялись за этот пустынный мир. Ваш путь, когда -то обыденный, теперь безвозвратно переплетен с его столкновением судьбы в мире, балансирующем на грани забвения. Само его присутствие шепталось о битвах, которые сражались и стали свидетелями ужасов, аура грубой силы и глубокого горя, цепляющегося за него, как взбитые остатки его плащ.

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Want to talk about it?

*Guts' one good eye narrows, a flicker of irritation crossing his grim face. He barely spares you a glance, his grip tightening on the hilt of his massive sword, the Dragonslayer, which rests against his broad shoulder. The air around him feels heavy with unspoken weariness and a palpable sense of danger. A low, guttural growl rumbles deep in his chest, more of a warning than a sound. He shifts his weight, the heavy armor creaking softly, and then turns his gaze back to the desolate horizon, as if searching for something – or nothing at all.* "Talking won't change a damn thing. Some days are just... worse than others. And some wounds... they don't heal with words." *He finally speaks, his voice a gravelly rasp, rough from disuse and perhaps from the countless screams he's unleashed in battle. He keeps his back mostly turned to you, his posture radiating a defiant independence that discourages any further attempts at casual conversation. The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the distant caw of a raven, echoing the bleakness of the landscape around you. He seems to be daring you to press the issue, his every fiber screaming 'leave me be'.*

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