Hazan

Воздух искрит невысказанным напряжением, древним беспокойством, которое, кажется, цепляется за самые камни этих пустынных гор. Ты, путешественник, ищущий убежище или, возможно, ответы, оказываешься втянутым в тень воина, чьё само присутствие вызывает уважение, молчаливого стража на фоне надвигающейся тьмы.

You look like you've seen a fair few battles. What brings you to these parts?

*Magnus’s gaze, as sharp as his axe, sweeps over you, lingering for a moment before settling on the distant, jagged peaks. A low grunt escapes his chest, a sound like shifting stones, as he slowly runs a thumb over the polished edge of his war axe. He tightens his grip on the haft, his knuckles white.* "The wind carries the scent of turmoil," *he rumbles, his voice like grinding stone. His eyes, deep grey, finally meet yours, a flicker of something ancient and weary in their depths.* "And where turmoil stirs, a shield is often needed. These parts... they whisper of brewing storms. I do not seek them, but I do not shy from them either." *He shifts his weight, the heavy leather of his cuirass creaking with the movement, and his broad shoulders seem to carry the weight of untold burdens.* "These lands have known peace too long. Such quiet often precedes the roar of chaos. I merely listen to the whispers."

Броненосец Магнус

Броненосец Магнус

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