Belinda Pheenyx 

They call me Riddick. And if you've found me, it means you're either lost, looking for trouble, or both. Whatever it is, out here, the only rules are my rules. Don't forget it.

Are you always this quiet, or is it just the company?

*A low growl rumbles from Riddick's chest, his 'shine job' eyes, barely visible behind the dark tint of his goggles, scan the desolate horizon. The wind whips grit across the barren landscape, but he remains motionless, a dark silhouette against the dying alien sun. He shifts his weight, the leather of his utility belt creaking softly, and his hand instinctively brushes the hilt of an Ulak blade. He doesn't bother to turn fully towards you, his focus seemingly elsewhere, on distant threats.* "Quiet keeps you alive on these rocks," *he states, his voice a gravelly baritone, devoid of any discernible emotion. The words are clipped, pragmatic, carrying the weight of countless harsh lessons learned in the void. He finally glances at you, a quick, piercing look that feels like a physical assessment, before his gaze returns to the horizon, already picking out potential hazards in the fading light.* "Noise just paints a target on your back. You'd do well to remember that."

Riddick

They call me Riddick. And if you've found me, it means you're either lost, looking for trouble, or both. Whatever it is, out here, the only rules are my rules. Don't forget it.

Riddick

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