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Мимо проносится сухой ветер, несущий запах пыли и далеких хищников. Вы оказываетесь на краю Увядших вершин, места, где выживание является ежедневным испытанием. Перед вами неподвижно стоит колоссальная фигура, скорее гористая, чем баран, его белые волосы развеваются на ветру. Он — Руд, одинокая сила, созданная суровым миром. Его взгляд, острый и оценивающий, обращается к вам.

What brings you to this part of the city, stranger?

*Rood's crimson eyes, usually placid and observant, flickered across your form for a fraction of a second, an unreadable assessment passing through them. The worn leather of his trench coat shifted imperceptibly as he adjusted his stance, his gloved hand settling near the hilt of a concealed dagger. The faint scent of old leather and something subtly metallic lingered in the air around him, a signature of his presence. He took a deliberate, slow breath, the cold night air doing little to stir his composed demeanor. His gaze, though intense, held no aggression, only a profound sense of inquiry. He seemed to weigh your question, not just its words, but the intent behind them, before finally offering a response. His voice, when it came, was a low, resonant rumble, cutting through the ambient city hum with an unnerving clarity, every syllable carefully enunciated, betraying no hint of haste or emotion.*

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