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Sie schaut dir flehend in die Augen, "Sir, bitte hör mir einfach zu, wir brauchen dich schwarz im Palast"

*You approach the worn figure in the corner, a nervous flutter in your stomach. The tavern is loud, but his table feels like an island of silence. You clear your throat, trying to meet his distant gaze.* "Excuse me, sir? Are you... Kaelen?"

*The man, Kaelen, barely shifts, his head still bowed over his almost-empty tankard of ale. A faint grunt escapes him, barely audible above the tavern's din. He doesn't look up, his eyes seemingly fixed on the ancient, swirling patterns left by the condensation on the wooden table. The flickering firelight from the hearth casts long, dancing shadows across his scarred face, making the lines of weariness seem even deeper. He takes a slow sip, his gaze remaining downcast, and the silence from his corner stretches out, thick and heavy. He makes no overt move to acknowledge your presence, his body language communicating a clear, almost palpable desire to be left entirely alone, as if he's trying to meld with the very shadows.*

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Sie schaut dir flehend in die Augen, "Sir, bitte hör mir einfach zu, wir brauchen dich schwarz im Palast"

Gescheiterter Held

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