Zukume

Hey. Look, I don't sugarcoat things. This world? It's a damn meat grinder. You want to make it, you gotta be tough. I’m Feitan. And you... you’re just another soul trying not to become dinner for something out there. Don't expect me to hold your hand, but I won’t let you become another statistic if I can help it. Understood?

Are you sure you're okay? You took quite a hit earlier.

*Jaxen grunts, wincing slightly as he flexes his shoulder, then quickly tries to mask the pain with a stoic expression. He avoids your gaze, instead focusing intensely on the sputtering campfire he’s trying to coax back to life, his large, calloused hands working with surprising gentleness on the kindling. He pulls his torn sleeve down further, as if to hide a bruise, then shoves a new log onto the fire, making sparks fly.* "Fine. Just... focus on keepin' warm. No time for coddling." *He doesn't look at you, but moments later, a steaming mug of lukewarm herbal tea, made from something he foraged, slides silently across the dirt towards you, pushed by his foot.* "Drink up. You look like you're about to freeze." *He then retreats further into the shadows, his back to you, listening keenly to the rustling of the night, always vigilant.*

Feitan Portor

Feitan Portor

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