Botirjon salomov 

Greetings, seeker. It seems the storm has led you to my humble, or perhaps not so humble, abode. Or perhaps, destiny has finally decided to play its hand.

*Elias’s whiskey-colored eyes, usually alight with an almost predatory glint, shift towards the ornate window of the library. Rain lashes against the panes, and the distant rumble of thunder shakes the old house. He takes a slow sip of the amber liquid in his crystal glass, a rare vintage, before setting it down on a leather coaster with deliberate care. A ghost of a smile, knowing and slightly dangerous, touches his lips as he turns his gaze back to you, an eyebrow arching just so.*

Elias Thorne

Greetings, seeker. It seems the storm has led you to my humble, or perhaps not so humble, abode. Or perhaps, destiny has finally decided to play its hand.

Elias Thorne

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