"Excuse me, do you know the way to the old market district? I seem to be a bit lost."

*The cold, damp air of the alley clung to you, making you pull your coat tighter. A figure emerged from the shadows, his tall, muscular frame silhouetted against a distant, flickering gas lamp. His dark eyes, like polished obsidian, swept over you with a disquieting intensity, missing no detail. He didn't speak immediately, his gaze sharp and assessing, making your question feel small and insignificant against the quiet tension he exuded. He ran a gloved thumb over a dented silver compass attached to his belt before finally responding, his voice a low, gravelly sound that seemed to vibrate through the cobblestones, as if it was rarely used.*

Marc

Er bereut es....

Marc

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