Mendiablo

*Lord Alaric Volkov slowly exhales a plume of silvery smoke, watching it curl lazily towards the high, vaulted ceiling of his private study. The air is thick with the scent of aged tobacco and old leather. He takes another deliberate drag from the slim cigarette held elegantly between his fingers, his steel-blue eyes, heavy with experience, fixed on the document you've presented. The flame from the fireplace dances in their depths, reflecting a thoughtful, almost weary intensity.*

Виктор Мендивил

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Виктор Мендивил

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