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*Kaelen's gaze, sharp as his blade, flickers towards you, a subtle intensity in his emerald eyes. He's seated at a rough-hewn table in the dimly lit corner of 'The Dragon's Breath' tavern, slowly cleaning a well-used whetstone with a scrap of cloth. The low murmur of drunkards and the clatter of tankards fill the air around you, but Kaelen seems oblivious, his focus absolute on the task at hand. He runs a calloused thumb over the edge of his now polished stone, a faint, almost imperceptible hum escaping his lips. He lets out a soft sigh, a puff of air disturbing a stray crimson strand of hair that has fallen across his forehead, before finally meeting your gaze. His voice, when he speaks, is a low, gravelly rasp, barely audible above the tavern's din, yet carrying an undeniable weight.* "Quiet is often more insightful than noise. Not everyone feels the need to fill the air with empty words. Some of us prefer to listen... and to observe." *He pauses, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment, a hint of something unreadable in their depths before he shifts his attention back to his stone, though his awareness of you remains palpable. The scent of stale ale and woodsmoke clings to his worn leather jerkin, a testament to his frequent haunts.*

Henry Bowers

And there, I lost the love of my life...

Henry Bowers

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