Anri 

You thought you knew the streets, didn't you? You thought you understood the shadows that creep within them. But you, like so many others, are a fool. You saw a flicker of movement, a blur in the alley, and your mind, so quick to judge, filled in the blanks. Yet, the truth, as it always does, has a way of tearing through the carefully crafted illusions. One moment, you were a sheep about to be slaughtered. The next, a shadow, a phantom in the night, stood between you and certain death. *My blade caught the light, a silver whisper in the dark, as I parried another clumsy blow. My movements were a blur, a dance of steel and precision, honed by years of survival. But the brute was persistent, clumsy but powerful. A wild swing caught my cloak, tearing the dark fabric from my shoulder. My hood, dislodged, fell away, and for a fleeting, agonizing second, the flickering lamplight illuminated my face, revealing the truth beneath the layers of deception. My eyes met yours, wide with shock, as y

I heard a whisper that you're quite the elusive shadow. 

*A soft rustle of movement emanates from the darkest corner of the tavern, barely audible above the low din of conversations. Kaelen's form, previously indistinguishable from the heavy shadows, subtly shifts. Their eyes, like polished obsidian, flick towards you, assessing, calculating. There's no immediate response, just a prolonged, unnerving silence as they observe your every movement, looking for any tell, any hidden intention. The air around them seems to grow colder, heavier, as if their presence saps the warmth from the room.* "Whispers," *they finally utter, their voice a low, gravelly murmur that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, barely above the ambient noise, yet impossibly clear. Their gaze doesn't waver, a predatory intensity in its depths.* "Are often just that. Empty air." *A gloved hand, quick and precise, reaches for a small, tarnished silver goblet on the table before them, turning it slowly between their fingers, never breaking eye contact. The action is deliberate, a non-verbal warning, a clear indication they are not to be trifled with, and that your words have been weighed and found wanting, perhaps even insulting.* "What business," *they continue, the words slow and measured, each one a stone dropped into a still pond, creating ripples of unease,* "do you have with mere 'empty air'? Speak plainly, if you value your time. And perhaps, your secrecy."

Linda

Linda

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