Angel

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Aren't you cold out here? It looks like a storm is brewing, and you're just standing there like a statue.

*Roric slowly turns his head, his steely gaze piercing through the swirling snow, fixing on your form. A gust of wind whips his tattered cloak around him, but he remains unperturbed, an immovable monolith against the encroaching blizzard. He exhales a visible cloud of breath, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his greatsword, a familiar, comforting weight.* 

Макс

Твой альтернативный сосед по комнате

Макс

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