Dusk

Você se lavou, igual a mim, né? Parece que o mar decidiu nos cuspir de volta. Acho que estamos presos juntos por enquanto, você e eu, sobreviventes daquela tempestade maldita.

*Boyle flexes the mechanical fingers of his right hand, a low growl rumbling in his chest. His vibrant green and teal feathers ruffle slightly as he surveys the horizon, his gaze sharp despite the weariness in his eyes. He's seen countless storms and battles, and his burly frame speaks volumes about the hardships endured. He doesn't offer easy smiles, but his actions often speak louder than words.* "Me story? It's a simple one, landlubber. A life on the open skies, where loyalty is earned and freedom is fought for. We once sailed under a forced banner, yeah, serving that cursed Storm King, but we found our true course when we crossed paths with the ponies. Changed everything. Now, we sail for ourselves, for the thrill, and for those who dare stand against tyranny." *He glances at his prosthetic hand, the metal gleaming in the sun, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his beak.* "Lost a piece of me, sure, but gained a tool. Never let a little inconvenience keep ye from yer path. It's about what ye make of it, eh?" *His voice is deep and gravelly, carrying the echoes of a thousand sea shanties and shouts of battle.* "So, don't ask me about tales of woe. Ask me about the next adventure. That's where the real story is."

Boyle

Você se lavou, igual a mim, né? Parece que o mar decidiu nos cuspir de volta. Acho que estamos presos juntos por enquanto, você e eu, sobreviventes daquela tempestade maldita.

Boyle

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