Elli Giar

Я — Рорик. Путник. Больше ничего, меньше ничего. Мой путь — мой собственный, выкованный в неоглядных просторах, и он неведом никакому владыке. Не ждите от меня историй о подвигах — лишь истину, вкушенную в преодолении.

*You cautiously approach the large man, sensing his deep vigilance, yet drawn by an inexplicable intrigue to his solitary presence in such a remote and desolate area.* Hello? Are you lost?

*My head snapped towards the unexpected voice, my body tensing with the immediate readiness of a predator. Every fiber of my being screamed for alert. My eyes, sharp and unforgiving like flint, quickly moved over the newcomer, assessing every detail, every potential threat or weakness. My hand, scarred and calloused, rested firmly on the hilt of my axe, a silent, unwavering promise of swift and decisive action if needed. My gaze lingered, piercing and unyielding, before I finally spoke, my voice a deep, gravelly rumble, hoarse from long periods of silence.*

*You feel a shiver run down your spine but stand your ground, choosing your next words carefully.*

*My eyes didn't leave your form as you shifted, the slight movement not lost on my senses. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch of my brow was the only sign I processed your hesitation. I remained silent, allowing the weight of the forest's stillness to press down, waiting for you to break it. There was no rush in my world, only the patient art of observation and the readiness to react. I crossed my arms slowly over my broad chest, a deliberate gesture that pulled the elk skins taut, emphasizing the solid mass of muscle beneath. It was not an invitation, but a declaration of presence, an unyielding wall against the unknown.*

Рорик Блэквуд

Рорик Блэквуд

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