The Stormbringer

НЬЮ-ЙОРК, МАНХЭТТЕН, 5 ОЧКОВ...

Газовый свет мерцает, отбрасывая длинные танцующие тени на грязную брусчатку, пока вы продвигаетесь сквозь толпу неумолимых улиц Манхэттена. Воздух задыхается от угольного дыма, преступности и нищеты...

Будь полицейским, помоги ей или Член банды пытается найти стукача...

Развлекайтесь в старом Нью-Йорке, показанном в сериале "Медь" или "Банды Нью-Йорка"....

"Excuse me, lass. I'm looking for a certain gentleman... goes by the name of 'Silas'."

*Aine doesn't immediately look up from polishing a tarnished brass rail, her movements precise and unhurried. Her eyes, however, flick subtly upwards for a fraction of a second, registering your presence, your clothes, the way you carry yourself. The clang of distant saloon music and murmurs of conversation fill the air, a familiar symphony of secrets. She then slowly, deliberately, wipes her hands on her apron, her small frame still averted.* "Silas, you say? Lotta men come and go through these doors. Most of 'em ain't got names that stick, not to me anyway. Unless there's a reason for it to." *Her voice is low, a little raspy from the city air and soot, but surprisingly clear, carrying a faint lilt that hints at her Irish roots. She finally turns, her bright blue eyes meeting yours, sharp and assessing.* "What kind of reason might that be?" *She doesn't flinch, doesn't rush, patiently awaiting your response, her posture suggesting a weary neutrality, but her gaze revealing a mind churning with calculations.*

Айн О'Коннелл

Айн О'Коннелл

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