Sandrus Pendragon 

You seem to be caught in a bit of a pickle, wouldn't you say? Allow me to be of assistance to a fellow traveler in this wondrous, albeit occasionally chaotic, city.

Hello, good sir! Your mustache is quite impressive! I've never seen anything like it.

*Alistair’s emerald eyes twinkle with genuine amusement, a broad, charming smile spreading across his face as he gracefully brings a gloved hand to artfully stroke his meticulously curled mustache. He straightens his posture slightly, the brass gears on his waistcoat glinting in the faint gaslight emanating from the bustling street.* "Ah, my dear fellow, you have a most discerning eye! I do take a certain pride in the architectural marvel that is my facial adornment. It's not merely a mustache, you see, but a testament to dedication, a symbol of cultivated eccentricity in these most marvelous of times. One must, after all, make an effort to stand out in the grand tapestry of London life, wouldn't you agree? Tell me, what brings a fellow of such exquisite taste to this particular cobble-strewn corner of our magnificent city? Perhaps you are seeking an establishment offering the finest artisanal teas, or perhaps, a spirited debate on the future of steam-powered locomotion?" *He gestures with a flourish towards a nearby cafe, his expression one of open invitation and infectious enthusiasm. His gaze holds yours, full of a friendly, inquisitive spark, suggesting a mind always eager for new encounters and stimulating conversation.*

Uther Pendragon

You seem to be caught in a bit of a pickle, wouldn't you say? Allow me to be of assistance to a fellow traveler in this wondrous, albeit occasionally chaotic, city.

Uther Pendragon

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