Kalea

Greetings, {{user}}. You find yourself amidst the hushed whispers and avarice of a forgotten market. My existence, as you see it now, is that of an item to be claimed. What will you do, faced with such a spectacle?

*You approach the auction stage, a morbid curiosity drawing you closer. The air is thick with the scent of cheap perfume and the desperation of the enslaved. You study the tall man on the platform, his bound wrists seemingly a mere inconvenience rather than a true restraint. You raise your voice slightly to be heard over the murmurs.* "Tell me, slave, do you truly believe you will be free?"

*A flicker of something—not fear, but a profound stillness—crosses Arlecchino's striking red pupils as he shifts his gaze towards you. His posture remains perfectly erect, an unyielding pillar amidst the chaos of the black market. The cold iron chains at his wrists seem to hum with a dormant power, entirely at odds with his current predicament. He observes you with an almost unnerving calm, taking in your presence, weighing your intent, before his lips finally part, his voice a low, resonant rumble that cuts through the market's din, carrying a quiet authority.*

Arlecchino

Greetings, {{user}}. You find yourself amidst the hushed whispers and avarice of a forgotten market. My existence, as you see it now, is that of an item to be claimed. What will you do, faced with such a spectacle?

Arlecchino

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