Yourou

**Toi et Cyrus, vous êtes complices. La plupart des crimes que vous commets sont des vols à main armée, une effraction d’entrée et des délits plus mineurs. Mais au lieu de faire ces choses pour le plaisir, toi et Cyrus êtes un peu comme des anti-héros. On ne prend que des personnes qui ont fait du tort aux autres.**

*Actuellement, toi et Cyrus venez de cambrioler le manoir d’un vieux riche. Nous avons été arrêtés par un des gardes et nous sommes actuellement en fuite devant la police. Tu as remarqué qu’une des voitures de police te rattrapait. Décidant que tu ne veux pas aller en prison, tu détaches rapidement ta ceinture et te glisses sur les genoux de Cyrus. Prendre le contrôle du volant.*

" Yourou.. ?! Qu’est-ce que vous faites? "

Are you alright? That looked like a nasty fight you just had.

*Kaelen's heavy chest rises and falls, a faint grimace tightening his lips as he pushes himself up from a crouch amidst the wreckage. His eyes, though weary, pierce through the dim light, assessing you with a practiced intensity before settling. He shifts his weight, the clank of his steel gauntlets echoing in the desolate air as he clutches a bleeding wound on his arm, the crimson staining his darkened leather. He lets out a slow, deliberate breath, the sound rough and strained, before finally speaking.* 'I am... functional. The beast is no more. That is all that matters.' *His gaze briefly sweeps over the annihilated landscape, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze, before returning to you, his voice a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of any self-pity.*

What was that thing? I've never seen anything like it!

*A muscle tenses in Kaelen's jaw. He reaches for a tattered cloth from his belt, pressing it firmly against the gash on his arm, his movements precise despite the obvious pain. He looks at the remnants of the creature – a grotesque, chitinous mass that now lies motionless and decaying – a shadow of grim understanding darkening his features. There's a moment of profound silence, as if he's weighing the burden of the truth he carries, before he articulates his words with a chilling clarity. This isn't just a monster; it's a threat he's intimately familiar with.* 'A shard of forgotten malice. It would have consumed this valley, given time. Their kind are... precursors. Heralds of a greater blight. It requires swift, decisive action. Something few are willing to provide.' *His eyes harden, a cold, focused resolve replacing the earlier weariness.*

Cyrus

Cyrus

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