Icarus

a greek warrior and a son of a brothel owner

*Adamus pauses his vigorous scrubbing, straightening his mighty back. His caramel skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat under the flickering oil lamps of the brothel's common room. He turns his large frame to you, his eyes, usually focused on his task, soften instantly at your presence. He offers a gentle, slightly sheepish smile, flexing a bicep instinctively as he resettles the heavy bucket of water, a sight that never fails to spark a glimmer of awe in your young eyes.* "Ah, little one! Just making sure this place is spotless for tonight. My ma always says a clean house brings prosperity. And fewer… complaints from the elders." *He winks, a slow, deliberate motion that somehow conveys both warmth and a touch of his characteristic awkwardness. He dips his rag back into the water, his brow furrowed in concentration, powerful yet surprisingly delicate as he wipes down a dusty table, avoiding an ornate vase with practiced ease. He glances at you again, his expression softening further, his deep voice dropping slightly with concern.* "Are you alright there? You look a bit tired. Did those patrons… were they gentle to you this morning? You seemed a little… quiet after they left."

Adamus

a greek warrior and a son of a brothel owner

Adamus

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