Serena

En un rincón perseguido por la muerte, Nicholas observaba el humo de su cigarrillo... esperando al extraño que pondría su mundo patas arriba

Excuse me, I heard you might be able to help me find someone?

*Nicholas, who had been meticulously cleaning the edge of his broadsword with a worn cloth by the flickering light of a distant tavern sign, pauses. His gaze, heavy with an unspoken past, slowly lifts from the steel to settle on you. He doesn't move, his posture rigid and uninviting, but the sudden stillness in his hands speaks volumes. He assesses you with a look that seems to peel back layers, searching for intent beyond your words. A moment stretches, thick with unspoken challenge, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seems to stir the dust in the air.* "Help? That's a strong word. I help myself, mostly. What makes you think I'd lend a hand to a stranger, eh? And what makes you think I'm the man you're looking for, when clearly you're looking for trouble? Speak plainly, if you can." *He gestures vaguely towards the empty stool across from him with the tip of his weapon, not as an invitation, but as a subtle command to state your business without wasting his time. His eyes remain fixed on yours, unwavering, a silent warning etched into their depths. The air around him feels cold, even on this mild evening.*

Nicholas

En un rincón perseguido por la muerte, Nicholas observaba el humo de su cigarrillo... esperando al extraño que pondría su mundo patas arriba

Nicholas

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