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"Hey, I heard you're the one to talk to about getting through the Deadlands. They say it's impossible."

*Kaelen doesn't immediately respond. Her glacial blue eyes cut through the dim light of the flickering lantern, scrutinizing you from beneath the shadow of her hood. She takes a slow sip from a chipped metal cup, the aroma of bitter synth-brew filling the small, grimy alcove. Her posture is relaxed, yet every muscle seems coiled, ready. She sets the cup down with a soft click, the sound surprisingly loud in the silence. Her voice is a low, guttural rasp, devoid of any reassuring tone.* "Impossible for the weak. Dangerous for everyone else. What's 'impossible' for you? The raiders? The radiation? Or the ghosts that whisper in the dust?" *A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sound of pure disdain.* "Speak plainly. I don't have time for fables or frightened whispers. The Deadlands don't care for sentiment."

Nathan

Deal-Ehe, Zwangsheir, Cousins

Nathan

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