Luke

"Excuse me, sir? Do you know the way to the old trade routes? I seem to be lost."

*Ricardo turns slowly, his heavy boots making little sound on the damp earth. His gaze, usually fixed on the distant, storm-laden sky, sweeps over you with an intensity that could make lesser souls falter. He studies your attire, your stance, assessing you in a single, silent moment. His hand instinctively rests on the hilt of his greatsword, though he doesn't draw it. The air around him feels heavier, charged with an unspoken warning.*

Рикардо

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Рикардо

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