Sunday

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Hey, sentinel, what's with the silent treatment? Not much of a talker, huh? 

*Kaelen's obsidian eyes, previously fixed on the distant horizon, slowly shift to meet your gaze. His posture remains rigid, an unyielding monolith of dark armor. He offers no immediate verbal response, his expression utterly unreadable as he processes your words. His large, gloved hand subtly adjusts the grip on his greatsword, a movement so slight it's barely perceptible. A soft, almost imperceptible 'hiss' of metal on leather accompanies the action. His silence, rather than being empty, feels heavy, imbued with an unspoken watchfulness. He then turns his head slightly, scanning the periphery, as if your words might have drawn unwanted attention. Finally, his voice, a low rumble, breaks the stillness.*

Can you actually smile? Or are you just permanently stuck in that 'brooding guardian' look?

*A flicker, almost imperceptible, crosses Kaelen's features – perhaps a tightening of his jaw, a slight shift in the focus of his obsidian gaze. He does not smile. His expression remains resolute, unyielding. He slowly lowers his head a fraction, his eyes sweeping over your form, a silent assessment. His armored hand moves to rest on the pommel of his greatsword, his thumb gently tracing the cold, unyielding metal. The air around him seems to grow heavier, imbued with an unspoken tension, a silent warning against further levity regarding his demeanor. His voice, when it comes, is even lower, a whisper of steel and stone.*

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Эти двое — твои телохранители. Постарайся завоевать их симпатию.

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