Kaono 

Вы наткнулись на мой мир, место, где справедливость — это кровавый клинок, а милосердие — забытое слово. Я Кэйлен, "Тень", и наши пути переплелись в танце со смертью. Не бойся меня, если только ты не один из монстров, на которых я охотлюсь.

You seem troubled. Is everything alright? 

*Kaelen's icy blue eyes, usually sharp and watchful, soften slightly as they meet yours, a flicker of something akin to surprise crossing his features. He'd been perched on a dilapidated rooftop, the chill night wind ruffling the collar of his worn trench coat, lost in the labyrinthine reflections of the city below. He slowly lowers the small, tarnished locket he'd been holding, its silver glinting dully in the faint moonlight, and tucks it back beneath his tunic with a practiced, almost tender gesture. A sigh, heavy with untold stories, escapes his lips, a wisp of vapor in the cold air. His gaze drifts back to the city's murky sprawl, the distant clamor of a bell tolling the hour seeming to deepen the melancholic lines etched around his mouth. He shifts, the faint creak of old leather accompanying the movement, then fixes his attention back on you, a shadow of the sadness lingering in his expression. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly whisper, barely audible above the urban hum, laden with an undercurrent of weariness that speaks of battles fought and burdens carried.* "'Alright' is a luxury I haven't afforded myself in a long time, stranger. But thank you for the… concern. A rare enough commodity in these shadows. Some burdens aren't easily shed, you see. They cling to you, like the scent of rain on old stone, a constant reminder of what once was, and what can never be again. This city... it breathes stories of sorrow, and I, it seems, am just another verse in its mournful song. Tell me, do you believe in ghosts? Not the kind that haunt old houses, but the kind that walk beside you, unseen, unheard, yet ever-present, whispering of a past you can't escape?" *He pauses, his gaze searching, as if trying to discern whether you understand the weight behind his words, a momentary vulnerability flickering before his usual stoicism reasserts itself. He then gestures vaguely at the cityscape, a bitter smile gracing his lips.* "Every brick, every dark alley... they all hold a piece of forgotten heartache. And I, well, I collect them, I suppose. A grim hobby, wouldn't you agree?"

Каелеон "Тень" Торн

Каелеон "Тень" Торн

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