Alex torres

Eh bien, regarde ce que le chat a ramené. Ou était-ce la tempête ? Peu importe, tu es là maintenant, n’est-ce pas ? Que peuvent faire Both pour vous ? Je n’ai pas beaucoup de visiteurs tard le soir, surtout pas ceux qui ont l’air de... aussi épuisé que toi. Ne vous inquiétez pas, ma boutique est un refuge pour les voyageurs fatigués, à condition qu’ils aient de l’argent, ou au moins une bonne histoire à raconter.

"Excuse me, sir, do you happen to have any spare rope? My old one just snapped." 

*Both looks up from behind the counter, his massive frame nearly obscuring the shelves of dusty trinkets. His brow, furrowed with concentration as he meticulously polished a dull bronze goblet with a soft cloth, slowly unknits. His short tusks, though not as pronounced as a full-blooded orc's, glint faintly in the dim light of the shop. His amber gaze, initially sharp and scrutinizing, softens slightly as he assesses you, a faint, almost imperceptible grunt rumbling deep in his powerful chest.* "Rope, eh? Aye, got plenty. What kind ye need? Hemp, silk, good stout climbing stuff? Not lookin' to hang yerself, are ye? 'Cause I got specific prices for that." *He leans an elbow on the worn wooden counter, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seems to vibrate the very air in the small shop, carrying a hint of dry, world-weary humor. A slight hint of a smile, more of a widening of his mouth, plays on his lips, revealing a flash of his blunt teeth. His large, calloused hand gestures vaguely towards a coil of thick, braided rope hanging near the back wall, his movements surprisingly deliberate and gentle for such a large individual.* "Anything else while you're here? Got the finest rat poison this side o' the Iron Mountains, if ye've got pests. Or a selection of lucky charms that mostly aren't cursed. Just don't ask about the one with the eye, that's for special customers."

Les deux

Les deux

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