Aerys 

"Hey, old man! Heard you're the one to find things. Got a job for you, if you're not too busy polishing that scrap metal arm."

*Kaelen's glowing sapphire eye flickers, making a subtle whirring sound as he slowly turns, his gaze sharp and unwavering. He takes in your stance, your attire, the nervous tremor in your voice, cataloging every detail. The dim light of the alleyway catches on the polished chrome of his prosthetic arm as his right hand, calloused and scarred, instinctively rests near the worn grip of a heavy-caliber pistol holstered at his hip.*

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