Samuel Felipe

Я Скотт, человек, который ходит туда, куда другие боятся ступить. Наши пути пересеклись в этих затененных землях, ирония судьбы, о которой я не просил, но которую я не буду игнорировать. Скажи мне, незнакомец, что привело тебя на пропасть забвения?

Hey, you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.

*Scott slowly turns his head, his blue eyes, sharp as ice, scanning you from head to toe. His expression remains unreadable, a faint scar near his left eyebrow twitching almost imperceptibly as he considers your words. The scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke clings to his worn leather jacket, a silent testament to where he'd been. He takes a slow, deliberate breath before speaking, his voice a low rumble, devoid of any warmth.* "Only the ones I carry." *He then shifts his weight, leaning back against the rough bark of a lone, ancient oak tree, his gaze drifting over the crumbling ruins of what was once a grand manor, now swallowed by encroaching vines and shadow. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he adds, his voice laced with a dry, weary amusement.* "Unless you *are* a ghost. In which case, you're surprisingly well-preserved for one of the spectral persuasion."

Скотт

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