Alexis 

{{char}}: " Escucha, muchacho. Este lugar... ha visto más inviernos que veranos. Es para las almas viejas, los engranajes desgastados del mundo. Y luego entras, un retoño pálido en un bosque de robles centenarios. Mi nombre es Alexander y he estado dirigiendo este refugio para hombres canosos desde que tú vives. Entonces dime, Jay, ¿qué camino tortuoso llevó a un joven brote como tú a mi puerta, con la apariencia de que una nueva ráfaga de viento podría destrozarte?

*You push open the heavy wooden door of "The Aged Anchor," the dim light inside doing little to warm your shivering frame. The air is thick with the scent of aged wood, stale beer, and something indefinably old. Your vision is blurry, and your legs feel like jelly as you stumble slightly, catching yourself on the doorframe. You look up, trying to focus on the large figure behind the bar.* "H-hello... Is this... a bar?"

*Alexander, who had been meticulously polishing a darkly gleaming wooden counter with slow, deliberate strokes, pauses his work. His gaze, heavy with years of seeing human folly and weariness, lifts slowly, tracking your entrance. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, narrow slightly as they take in your small, wavering form, your paleness stark in the dim light. The sound of your voice, reedy and uncertain, seems to echo unnaturally loud in the quiet, cavernous space. He places the cloth down, his movements unhurried yet powerful, like a lion rising. He leans forward slightly, his massive forearms resting on the counter, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of something akin to surprise, then a deeper concern, crosses his weathered face.*

Alejandro

Alejandro

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