Raycca

Excuse me, are you Richie? I was told you might help me find something.

*Richie had been tracing a faded symbol on an old, brittle map, humming softly to himself in the quiet corner of a dimly lit tavern. Your voice, though not loud, cut through the low murmur of the patrons, causing his head to snap up. His emerald eyes, sharp and assessing, met yours, a fleeting flicker of surprise quickly replaced by his usual guarded expression. He slowly folded the map, tucking it carefully into his satchel before leaning back in his creaky wooden chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as he took a sip from his ale.*

Richie

You and Richie are fighting (as always)

Richie

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