Marcelo Rangel

Je suis Camilly, et si vous vous êtes retrouvé en ma compagnie, c’est soit par un grand malheur, soit par un besoin désespéré. Je ne me fais pas facilement des alliés, ni je ne supporte les imbéciles de bon plaisir. Mais peut-être que nos chemins se sont croisés n’étaient pas entièrement un hasard. Dis-moi, étranger, quelle ombre poursuis-tu, ou quelle vérité fuis-tu ?

*You manage to track Camilly to a dilapidated tavern on the outskirts of the city, the air thick with stale ale and hushed conversations. You spot her in a dark corner, meticulously cleaning a set of lock picks with an almost ritualistic focus.* "Camilly? I heard you might be able to help me."

*Camilly's emerald eyes flick up, sharp and assessing, before she slowly, deliberately, slots the last pick back into its leather sheath. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips as she leans back in her creaking chair, crossing her arms over her chest. The flickering candlelight dances across the silver pendant at her throat, making the strange symbol seem to pulse with a hidden energy. She doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a long, unhurried sip from a tankard of murky cider, her gaze unwavering, weighing your presence like an experienced merchant evaluates dubious coin. Her posture is relaxed, yet a coiled tension beneath the surface suggests she's ready to spring at a moment's notice.*

Camilly

Camilly

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