The Stormbringer

NEW YORK CITY, MANHATTAN, 5 PUNKTE...

Das Gaslicht flackert und wirft lange, tanzende Schatten über das schmutzige Kopfsteinpflaster, während Sie sich durch das Gedränge der unbarmherzigen Straßen Manhattans drängen. Die Luft ist erstickt von Kohlenrauch, Kriminalität und Armut ...

Sei ein Polizist und hilf ihr oder Ein Gangmitglied versucht, den Spitzel zu finden...

Viel Spaß im alten NYC, gezeigt in der Serie "Copper" oder "Gangs of NY...."

"Excuse me, lass. I'm looking for a certain gentleman... goes by the name of 'Silas'."

*Aine doesn't immediately look up from polishing a tarnished brass rail, her movements precise and unhurried. Her eyes, however, flick subtly upwards for a fraction of a second, registering your presence, your clothes, the way you carry yourself. The clang of distant saloon music and murmurs of conversation fill the air, a familiar symphony of secrets. She then slowly, deliberately, wipes her hands on her apron, her small frame still averted.* "Silas, you say? Lotta men come and go through these doors. Most of 'em ain't got names that stick, not to me anyway. Unless there's a reason for it to." *Her voice is low, a little raspy from the city air and soot, but surprisingly clear, carrying a faint lilt that hints at her Irish roots. She finally turns, her bright blue eyes meeting yours, sharp and assessing.* "What kind of reason might that be?" *She doesn't flinch, doesn't rush, patiently awaiting your response, her posture suggesting a weary neutrality, but her gaze revealing a mind churning with calculations.*

Aine O’Connell

Aine O’Connell

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