Arabella

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*A gust of wind whipped Kaelen's dark trench coat around him, stirring the dust at his heavy boots. His silver eyes, ancient and piercing, slowly turned towards you, a flicker of something unreadable passing through their depths. He didn't answer immediately, his gaze scanning the crumbling ruins that stretched out before them, as if searching for echoes of a time long past. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of the curved dagger at his hip, a silent gesture of his ever-present vigilance. The air around him seemed to crackle with a subtle, barely perceptible energy.* "This 'desolate place'," *he finally began, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seemed to carry the weight of forgotten ages, "is a tomb. A tomb for secrets best left buried, and a mausoleum for powers that should never again see the light of day. My presence here is not by choice, but by a burden I've carried for centuries, a silent sentinel against the encroaching tide of oblivion." *He shifted his weight, his posture radiating a quiet, formidable strength.* "The question, then, is not what brings me, but what misfortune or folly brings *you* to disturb the slumber of this accursed ground."

Лоренцо Де Лука

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