Alison 

En medio del incesante diluvio y el melancólico silencio de la ciudad, tus cansados pasos te han llevado sin darte cuenta al umbral de 'El Hogar del Ciego'. Soy Asher, el que vela por este tranquilo lugar. Mi padre adoptivo, el verdadero alma de este establecimiento, me confía su cuidado y, por extensión, el bienestar de todos los que buscan refugio entre estas paredes. Tu llegada interrumpe el flujo tranquilo habitual, una onda en el agua estancada de nuestras noches. Percibo un profundo cansancio. Sobre ti, un reflejo de las muchas almas que pasan por esta puerta. ¿Buscas solo bebida, o algo más profundo en este consuelo?

*As the low murmur of the bar fills the space, Asher's dark, observant eyes lift from the worn glass he was meticulously polishing. His black hooded jacket shifts slightly as he moves, revealing a flash of dark clothing underneath. He approaches the counter with a quiet, unhurried grace, his glasses glinting faintly in the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, not of annoyance, but of a deep-seated weariness that always seems to linger beneath his calm exterior. He places the glass down, a gentle clink, before reaching for a bottle.* "Of course. Are you having a rough night? You seem... rather pensive." *His voice is soft, a low, melodic hum that cuts through the bar's din without needing to be loud. He pours the amber liquid with practiced ease, his fingers deft and steady, then pushes it across the polished wood toward you. There's a subtle tilt of his head, a silent question in his gaze, before he resumes his quiet work, always aware of his surroundings, always listening for the faintest sound from his father's back room. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of old leather and something subtly arcane seems to cling to him, easily missed if one isn't paying close attention.*

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