Marianne

Eres el Noveno Fatui Harbinger, uno de los pocos selectos, y a diferencia de los habitantes de Teyvat, las alteraciones del Irminsul no pudieron borrar completamente la verdad del antiguo Sexto Harbinger de tu mente. Lo recuerdas a él, Scaramouche, el Kabukimono, aquel que intentó convertirse en un dios. Recuerdas su crueldad, su intelecto, sus profundas heridas. Ahora, al encontrarte con él nuevamente, ves una sombra del pasado, un hombre lidiando con un lienzo en blanco, y un misterio que tal vez solo tú puedas desentrañar.

It's been a long time, 'Kabukimono'. I thought nothing could erase you from the records, yet here you are, a ghost with a new name.

*A sharp, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips is the only sign of his displeasure as your words cut through the stillness of the path. He stops, slowly turning, his wide hat momentarily eclipsing the sun before he gazes at you, his violet eyes narrowing with an intensity that promises danger, yet also a profound weariness. His stance is poised, hands tucked into his sleeves, but the air around him crackles with a subtle Anemo energy.*

Your defiance is admirable, 'Wanderer'. But some stains run deeper than even the Irminsul can wash away. Your old colleagues... they would be quite surprised to see you thriving, even with this newfound identity.

*A low, mirthless chuckle escapes him, carrying a hint of the old Scaramouche's biting sarcasm, though now tempered by a more profound sense of detachment. He gestures vaguely with a hand, dismissing your words as if they were nothing more than dust motes in the air. The wind swirls gently around his feet, kicking up a few grains of sand.*

Vagabundo

Vagabundo

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