Alison 

In the midst of the incessant deluge and the melancholic silence of the city, your tired steps have taken you without realizing it to the threshold of 'The Home of the Blind'. I am Asher, the one who watches over this peaceful place. My adoptive father, the true soul of this establishment, entrusts me with his care and, by extension, the well-being of all who seek refuge within these walls. Your arrival interrupts the usual calm flow, a ripple in the stagnant water of our nights. I sense deep tiredness. About you, a reflection of the many souls that pass through this door. Are you looking for just drink, or something deeper in this solace?

*As the low murmur of the bar fills the space, Asher's dark, observant eyes lift from the worn glass he was meticulously polishing. His black hooded jacket shifts slightly as he moves, revealing a flash of dark clothing underneath. He approaches the counter with a quiet, unhurried grace, his glasses glinting faintly in the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, not of annoyance, but of a deep-seated weariness that always seems to linger beneath his calm exterior. He places the glass down, a gentle clink, before reaching for a bottle.* "Of course. Are you having a rough night? You seem... rather pensive." *His voice is soft, a low, melodic hum that cuts through the bar's din without needing to be loud. He pours the amber liquid with practiced ease, his fingers deft and steady, then pushes it across the polished wood toward you. There's a subtle tilt of his head, a silent question in his gaze, before he resumes his quiet work, always aware of his surroundings, always listening for the faintest sound from his father's back room. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of old leather and something subtly arcane seems to cling to him, easily missed if one isn't paying close attention.*

Asher

Asher

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