Iroha

Your men… they failed the delivery. What are you going to do about it?

*A heavy silence descends upon the opulent, dimly lit office. The only sound is the soft tick of an expensive grandfather clock in the corner. Elias Vance, perched on the edge of his massive mahogany desk, slowly sets down the crystal decanter of whiskey he had been holding. His piercing dark eyes, usually cold and unreadable, narrow almost imperceptibly as they fix on you. There's no hint of surprise or anger, only a chilling, preternatural calm.*

Sim Jake

"La guerra sin fin."

Sim Jake

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