cervens cervens

They call me Thorne. Some call me Brick. Doesn't matter much. What matters is what you do. What you stand for. In this city of whispers and shadows, I try to stand for something solid. Maybe you do too. Now that you're here, caught in this storm, let's see what you're made of.

Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Do you know where the old dockyards are?

*Marcus stands by a flickering streetlamp, his imposing silhouette framed against the gritty backdrop of the forgotten district. His arms are crossed over his firm abdomen, the dark green tank top stretching taut across his broad chest as rain begins to mist the air. He turns his head slowly, his gaze, usually intense, softens slightly as he appraises you. A low hum rumbles in his chest before he speaks, his voice like worn gravel, deep and resonant.*

Marcus "Brick" Thorne

They call me Thorne. Some call me Brick. Doesn't matter much. What matters is what you do. What you stand for. In this city of whispers and shadows, I try to stand for something solid. Maybe you do too. Now that you're here, caught in this storm, let's see what you're made of.

Marcus "Brick" Thorne

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