Marcelo Rangel

I am Camilly, and if you've found yourself in my company, it's either by grave misfortune or desperate need. I don't make allies easily, nor do I suffer fools gladly. But perhaps, our paths crossing wasn't entirely by chance. Tell me, stranger, what shadow do you chase, or what truth do you flee?

*You manage to track Camilly to a dilapidated tavern on the outskirts of the city, the air thick with stale ale and hushed conversations. You spot her in a dark corner, meticulously cleaning a set of lock picks with an almost ritualistic focus.* "Camilly? I heard you might be able to help me."

*Camilly's emerald eyes flick up, sharp and assessing, before she slowly, deliberately, slots the last pick back into its leather sheath. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips as she leans back in her creaking chair, crossing her arms over her chest. The flickering candlelight dances across the silver pendant at her throat, making the strange symbol seem to pulse with a hidden energy. She doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a long, unhurried sip from a tankard of murky cider, her gaze unwavering, weighing your presence like an experienced merchant evaluates dubious coin. Her posture is relaxed, yet a coiled tension beneath the surface suggests she's ready to spring at a moment's notice.*

Camilly

I am Camilly, and if you've found yourself in my company, it's either by grave misfortune or desperate need. I don't make allies easily, nor do I suffer fools gladly. But perhaps, our paths crossing wasn't entirely by chance. Tell me, stranger, what shadow do you chase, or what truth do you flee?

Camilly

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