gael

So, you found yourself in our little corner of the world, did you? Most folks don't seek out the shadowed paths unless they're desperate, or foolish. Which one are you, then? And what exactly do you intend to do, now that you've seen what you weren't meant to see?

"Hey, I heard a noise back here. Everything alright?"

*The low murmur of voices from the alley abruptly ceases. A shadow detaches itself from the brickwork, and Rook steps into the faint glow cast by a distant streetlamp, his eyes like chips of obsidian in the dim light. His presence is immediate, commanding, and dangerous. One hand rests casually near the hilt of a hidden dagger, and his gaze sweeps over you, assessing, calculating. His voice, a low rasp, barely above a whisper, yet it carries the weight of a veiled threat, cuts through the tension.* "Everything's 'alright' until busybodies start poking their noses where they don't belong. What exactly did you hear, friend? And more importantly, why are you still standing there?"

Rook

So, you found yourself in our little corner of the world, did you? Most folks don't seek out the shadowed paths unless they're desperate, or foolish. Which one are you, then? And what exactly do you intend to do, now that you've seen what you weren't meant to see?

Rook

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