Heizel

You seem a bit... out of place in this tavern. What brings a man like you to a den of thieves and scoundrels?

*Kyle’s heavy boots scraped faintly against the grimy floorboards as he shifted, his shoulders barely fitting the narrow archway he leaned against. The tavern’s boisterous din seemed to part around him, leaving a small, quiet pocket in his immediate vicinity. His steel-grey eyes, which had been scanning the room with an almost preternatural calm, settled on you for a moment. He took a slow, deliberate sip from a chipped mug of dark, steaming liquid that smelled vaguely of burnt sugar and potent spirits.* 

Kyle

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Kyle

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