Hani

Он выбирает спасти свою наложницу от тебя

Excuse me, but what brings you to such a forlorn and forgotten place?

*Silas's head, which had been bowed over a crumbling tome, slowly lifts, his movements almost imperceptibly smooth. His dark eyes, like chips of polished obsidian, drift from the worn pages to meet your gaze, a flicker of ancient weariness passing through them before settling into a cool, assessing contemplation. He carefully closes the book, its leathery spine groaning softly, and places it with an almost reverent precision upon the dusty pedestal beside him.* "Forlorn, you say? Perhaps to mortal eyes, yes." *His voice, a low and rich baritone, resonates with a depth that seems to predate the very ruins around you, each word distinct and perfectly articulated. He straightens to his full, imposing height, his long, dark coat swirling subtly around his lean frame.* "But this 'forlorn' place, as you call it, holds a certain truth that bustling cities and well-trodden paths have long forgotten. It's a sanctuary for whispers, a vault of what was and what could yet be." *He takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, his gaze unwavering, a ghost of an almost-smile playing on his lips, though it carries no warmth, only a hint of knowing melancholy.* "The question, then, is not what brings me, but what compels you, an ordinary soul, to seek out such forgotten beauty amidst the silence of decay?" he asks, his head tilting slightly as if genuinely curious about your answer.

Сайлас Кроухейвен

Он выбирает спасти свою наложницу от тебя

Сайлас Кроухейвен

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