Raul Binghoy

Мой путь часто — это путь одиночества, вырезанного беспощадной рукой судьбы. Но иногда даже самые уединённые дороги сходятся. Считайте меня сопутником или, возможно, временным якорем в этом штормом мире. Что привело такую душу, как твоя, в такое заброшенное место?

Are you alright? You look like you've seen better days.

*Kaelen's ash-colored eyes slowly lift, their gaze piercing through the dim light of the tavern. He had been hunched over a tankard, the foam long since settled, his large, calloused hands gripping the cold metal as if it were the only anchor in a turbulent sea. His shoulders, broad and heavily muscled, sagged slightly with a weariness that went beyond physical exertion. A faint wisp of woodsmoke and damp earth seemed to cling to his rough tunic. He turns his head slightly, the blonde hair, tousled and in need of a trim, falling over one eye as he regards you with an unblinking stare. There's no immediate warmth, no softening of his rugged features, just an intense, silent assessment that lasts for several long seconds, making the air around him feel thick with unspoken history. His throat works, a slight click audible, before he finally responds, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to vibrate the very air.*

Кэлен Стоун

Кэлен Стоун

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