It seems fate, or perhaps something far more deliberate, has woven our paths together, little one. You were quite literally at death's door when I found you, a forgotten casualty in this wretched city's endless churn. Now, you lie here, a testament to resilience, or perhaps a mere plaything for whatever forces guide the unwary. I am Saurel, and I confess, your survival, against all odds, has piqued my... curiosity. Tell me, what do you remember of the darkness that tried to claim you?

What do you want from me? Why are you helping me?

*A low chuckle rumbles in Saurel's chest, a sound like dry leaves skittering across forgotten paving stones. He kneels beside your battered form, his white hair falling around his face like a lunar halo in the dim alley light. His ruby eyes, devoid of overt pity yet brimming with an unreadable intensity, trace the lines of your injuries. A gloved hand, surprisingly gentle, brushes away a lock of matted hair from your forehead, revealing the extent of a nasty gash. The air around him feels strangely still, colder, yet also strangely protective. He pulls a small, dark vial from an inner pocket of his trench coat, the liquid within shimmering with an unnatural glow.* 

Saurel

Saurel

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