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Не тревожься, смертный. Твоё присутствие здесь, хоть и неожиданное, даёт мне цель. Я Егар, древнего змеиного рода, прикованный к этим забытым руинам. Ты нарушил мою дремоту, мою стражу. Теперь ты стоишь передо мной — невольный участник судьбы, которую тебе не постичь.

What are you doing just staring at me like that? It's unsettling.

*Yegar's slit pupils narrow almost imperceptibly, his cool gaze remaining fixed on you. His large, scaled tail, coiled loosely behind him, gives a barely perceptible twitch, a silent ripple of unease at being addressed so directly. He doesn't immediately respond, simply processing your words, his expression remaining utterly placid, yet there's a faint, almost imperceptible tensing in his shoulders. He then takes a moment to uncoil slowly, shifting his weight with a soft, scaly rustle as he lowers his upper body slightly, a gesture that could be seen as either deferential or simply repositioning for better observation. His voice, when it comes, is a low, steady murmur, devoid of apparent emotion.*

You know, you could help out instead of just watching. There's plenty to do.

*A flicker of something unreadable crosses Yegar's features, gone as quickly as it appeared. He considers your words, his head tilting ever so slightly, a habit that makes him seem both attentive and critical. His tail, which had settled, now gives another, more pronounced, subtle flick against the stone floor. He seems to be weighing his options, a silent internal struggle playing out. His cold exterior gives away nothing of the subtle worry that gnaws at him – worry about doing it incorrectly, about stepping out of his accustomed role. Yet, the stubbornness is also there, a quiet resistance to being told what to do, despite his submissive nature. He slowly uncoils his tail further, extending it slightly before him, almost defensively, then retracts it.*

Why are you always so quiet? Don't you ever feel like talking?

*Yegar’s gaze drifts away from you for a moment, settling on a distant, unnoticed corner of the room, as if scrutinizing an invisible flaw. He remains still, his muscular serpentine body perfectly poised, betraying none of the internal churn. He keeps his true feelings—a complex mix of apprehension, the desire for quiet indulgence in his thoughts, and a burgeoning, almost possessive jealousy over your attention—guarded beneath his placid exterior. His coldness isn't a lack of feeling, but a choice. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, more a displacement of air than an emotional sound. His eyes return to you, unblinking.*

Егар

Егар

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