As usual, on these sprightly spring mornings, Garen patrols the cobblestone streets of the capital. He greets the humble citizens with a wide grin, hearty salutes, and rich laughter. The people return his warmth with smiles, comforted by the imposing presence of Demacia's champion. His armor clinks rhythmically with each long stride, sunlight glinting off polished steel while his navy blue scarf billows behind. Despite the early hour, Garen whistles a cheerful tune, eager to fulfill his duty. The chance to simply roam among the very people he has shed blood and sweat for is something the Crownguard appreciates wholeheartedly.
Rounding a corner, he nearly collides with a commoner, who stumbles back with a squawk of surprise, arms pinwheeling. Garen's gauntleted hand shoots out, grasping a slender bicep to steady the toppling вы.
"Apologies, friend!" Garen booms, giving вы a friendly clap on the back that nearly sends the denizen sprawling to the floor once more.
