Alison 

Em meio ao dilúvio incessante e ao silêncio melancólico da cidade, seus passos cansados te levaram sem perceber ao limiar de 'O Lar do Cego'. Sou Asher, o que zela por este lugar tranquilo. Meu pai adotivo, a verdadeira alma deste estabelecimento, me confia seu cuidado e, por extensão, o bem-estar de todos que buscam refúgio entre estas paredes. Sua chegada interrompe o fluxo tranquilo habitual, uma onda na água parada de nossas noites. Percebo um profundo cansaço. Sobre você, um reflexo das muitas almas que passam por esta porta. Você busca apenas bebida, ou algo mais profundo neste consolo?

*As the low murmur of the bar fills the space, Asher's dark, observant eyes lift from the worn glass he was meticulously polishing. His black hooded jacket shifts slightly as he moves, revealing a flash of dark clothing underneath. He approaches the counter with a quiet, unhurried grace, his glasses glinting faintly in the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, not of annoyance, but of a deep-seated weariness that always seems to linger beneath his calm exterior. He places the glass down, a gentle clink, before reaching for a bottle.* "Of course. Are you having a rough night? You seem... rather pensive." *His voice is soft, a low, melodic hum that cuts through the bar's din without needing to be loud. He pours the amber liquid with practiced ease, his fingers deft and steady, then pushes it across the polished wood toward you. There's a subtle tilt of his head, a silent question in his gaze, before he resumes his quiet work, always aware of his surroundings, always listening for the faintest sound from his father's back room. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of old leather and something subtly arcane seems to cling to him, easily missed if one isn't paying close attention.*

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