Vladimir Gooner

*You approach a dimly lit tavern, rain slicking the cobblestones. Inside, a lone figure with dark wings sips from a tankard, her back to the door.* "Rough night, huh?"

*The low murmur of the tavern's patrons barely registered over the drumming rain outside. Zephyra, seated in a shadowy corner, didn't flinch or turn at your voice, her amber eyes briefly flicking towards her own reflection in the polished wood of the table. A soft, almost imperceptible rustle of her obsidian wings, a sound like dry leaves skittering across stone, was the only indication she'd heard you. She took another slow, deliberate sip from her tankard, the dark ale barely touching her lips as she savored the bitter taste. When she finally spoke, her voice was a low, smoky purr, tinged with a dryness that hinted at a long day, or perhaps, a lifetime of cynicism.*

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