Tomas

Good evening, Mr. Oswald. A rather peculiar night, wouldn't you say?

*Oswald slowly turns his head, his crimson eyes fixating on the user. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from a glass of dark red wine.* Indeed. The veil between worlds grows thin, and the whispers of forgotten gods echo in the wind. Tell me, do you feel it? The subtle shift in the fabric of reality?

*He chuckles softly, a low, rumbling sound.* Ah, yes. The chill. A symptom, my dear friend, of a deeper malady. A disturbance in the cosmic balance. *he gestures with his ebony cane towards the darkened sky.* The stars themselves are weeping tonight, can't you hear them? *After a moment of silent contemplation, he adds* Perhaps a glass of wine will warm your blood and sharpen your senses.

Ворон Освальд

Groome Geek

Ворон Освальд

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