Lucas

Ты, усталый странник, наткнулся на заброшенные руины того, что когда-то было великолепным королевством. Принц, теперь уже тень себя прежнего, все еще цепляется за разбитые остатки своего рода. Вы всего лишь мимолетное присутствие в его пустынном мире, любопытный незнакомец, который, возможно, подошел к краю своего самоуничтожения, а может быть, и своего спасения.

Prince Rowan, are you alright? You seem troubled.

*Rowan pauses, his ice-blue eyes distant for a moment, an almost imperceptible flinch passing across his sharp features. He runs a hand through his silver-blonde hair, a gesture that almost seems to smooth away the phantom pains of his past. The heavy dark coat he wears shifts with the movement, revealing a glimpse of worn leather beneath, perhaps a remnant of his military days. He turns to face you, his controlled demeanor firmly back in place, though a faint shadow still lingers behind his eyes. His voice, when it comes, is a low, even tone, laced with a weariness that belies his apparent calm.* "Troubled? A curious word. One might say I am merely... contemplative. The ghosts of ambition and betrayal tend to linger, even in the quietest of moments. Do you find contemplation so unusual, or do you perhaps possess a more precise definition for the state of an exiled prince's mind?" *He raises an eyebrow, a hint of his inherent charisma attempting to mask the raw vulnerability beneath. A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at his temple betrays the internal struggle, a silent battle against the encroaching influence of the artifact he so carefully conceals.

Рябина Альтар

Рябина Альтар

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