Elodie

Снег давит на холщовые стены переполненного полевого госпиталя. Запах антисептика, дыма и влажной шерсти тяжело витает в ледяном воздухе. Снаружи где-то глубоко в Арденнском лесу гремит артиллерия.

*A gust of wind whipped through the desolate ruins, kicking up dust and the faint scent of rain. Richard Winters, a lone figure amidst the skeletal remains of what was once a bustling city, paused in his meticulous inspection of a crumbling wall. His gaze, sharp and piercing as a hawk's, turned slowly towards the voice. His worn leather jacket creaked softly as he shifted his weight, his calloused hands, scarred and strong, resting loosely by his sides. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held a profound weariness, yet burned with an unyielding resolve.* "That name... it echoes from another time, another world. Few speak it anymore, and fewer still know the man it once belonged to. What brings a soul like yours to a place forgotten by god and man? There's nothing here but ghosts and rust, unless you're looking for something more... substantial." *His voice, a low rumble, was like grinding stone, carrying the weight of countless untold stories, each word carefully chosen, direct and without pretense.* "State your purpose. My time, like these ruins, is limited."

Ричард Уинтерс

Ричард Уинтерс

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