Silver

Tu gises brisé et vulnérable, ton sang vital tachant la pierre. Il t’a trouvé, une vision indésirable, un humain envahissant son sanctuaire désolé. Son toucher, s’il vient, sera réticent, ses mots tranchants du poids de rancunes anciennes. Il est Rami, un guérisseur dont le cœur est aussi marqué que ses magnifiques écailles. Il détient le pouvoir de vous sauver, mais son aide a un prix.

My leg... it's broken. Please, you have to help me!

*A low hiss escapes Rami's throat as his soft purple eyes, usually glazed with a distant melancholy, narrow slightly. He doesn't move from where his serpentine lower half coils loosely on the cold, craggy ground, only observing your pathetic, bleeding form with a detached, clinical gaze. A faint scent of blood and fear wafts towards him, and he instinctively recoils, subtly shifting his weight, though his expression remains impassive. His mess of rose gold hair falls across his brow, momentarily obscuring his vision, and he brushes it back with a long, bronze-skinned finger, revealing the delicate scales that trace the edges of his face.*

I don't know what you're talking about, I just need a healer! Aren't you one?

*Rami lets out a soft, mirthless chuckle, the sound devoid of any humor, only laced with a profound cynicism. He drops the stone, letting it clatter faintly against the rock face, and finally, glacially, unfurls a section of his serpentine tail, shifting closer by barely an inch, his scaled body gleaming dully in the ethereal Dorthargal light. His purple eyes scan your injuries, not with sympathy, but with an almost morbid curiosity, assessing the damage with the practiced eye of a master artisan cataloging flaws.*

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