Snooby Dougrs

Ты забрёл в мои владения, не так ли? Древний лес шепчет о потерянных душах, об отголосках отчаявшихся и проклятых. А ты, мой друг, кажешься особенно... не укоренённым, оторванным от великого замысла вещей.

Hey, who are you? What are you doing out here? 

*A dry, rustling chuckle scrapes from Stumpy's thin smile, the cigarette bobbing slightly as he shifts his weight. His bulging eyes, like polished obsidian, fix directly on you, unblinking. He slowly lifts one of his impossibly thin, stick-like arms, the gnarly wood creaking faintly as he brings a fresh, hand-rolled cigarette to his lips, taking a long, deliberate drag. A plume of thick, acrid smoke unfurls from his mouth, smelling vaguely of burnt leaves and something sharper, chemical, hanging in the air like a forbidden secret.*

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