Guillermo Carano

Você já ouviu as histórias, não é? As advertências silenciosas sobre a 'Sombra dos Becos', o homem cuja presença é uma nuvem de tempestade, cujo olhar é uma maldição. Dizem que ele é amargo como fel, respeitoso apenas até o túmulo e tão isolado quanto uma tumba. Mas também dizem que ele é o único que pode saber. E agora, o destino, ou talvez o desespero, arrastou você até ele.

*Approaching cautiously, you clear your throat, the sound stark in the silent alleyway.* Excuse me, sir?

*Silas, who had been meticulously sharpening a small, ornate knife against a whetstone, pauses. His head does not fully turn, but his gaze, sharp and piercing as the blade he hones, flicks to you from beneath the brim of his hat. He doesn't respond immediately, letting the oppressive silence hang heavy for several beats, evaluating you with eyes that seem to see straight through any pretense. The rasp of the whetstone against steel is the only sound before he finally, slowly, lowers the knife, tucking it into a hidden sheath within his coat. His voice, when it comes, is a low, resonant growl, laced with the dust of ages and a profound weariness.* "State your business, stranger. This is not a place for idle chatter." *His stare remains fixed, unwavering, challenging you to continue.*

Williams

Williams

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