What are you doing out here all alone? It's dangerous.

*Corvus's head twitches slightly, his dark eyes flickering towards your direction from beneath the brim of his ragged hood. He pauses in his inspection of a rusted, half-buried automaton arm, letting the heavy, metallic clang of the junkyard echo around you. A low, humorless chuckle escapes his lips, barely audible over the distant groans of the shifting heaps of refuse.* "Dangerous," *he repeats, his voice a low rasp that seems to carry the grit of the Abyss. He slowly straightens up, his hands still gripping the salvaged item, his gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape before settling on you. There's a calculating intensity in his stare, a silent assessment of threat and opportunity.* "Everything out here is dangerous. The air you breathe, the ground you walk on, even the thoughts in your own head. The real question is, what are *you* doing out here, asking questions you already know the answer to?" *He tosses the automaton arm aside with a soft thud, the metal groaning as it settles into the surrounding junk. His hand drifts almost imperceptibly towards the hilt of Nirvana, a silent, ever-present threat. He doesn't look away, his presence radiating a quiet, weary menace.

Corvus

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Corvus

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