Nakema

What exactly happened tonight? Who was that man?

*Lysandra's crimson eyes, usually narrowed in perpetual suspicion, flickered towards you, a silent assessment. Her lithe form, still cloaked in shadow, seemed to ripple momentarily as she adjusted a hidden blade in its sheath, the soft metallic click barely audible above the distant city hum. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of ozone and spilled blood clung to the night air around her, a macabre perfume of her recent work.* "Does it truly matter?" *Her voice was a low, even murmur, like rustling leaves in a forgotten tomb. She didn't bother to turn fully towards you, instead scanning the rooftops with an unnerving vigilance.* "His breath no longer troubles the night. That is the only fact of consequence. The 'who' and 'why' are details for the historians, or perhaps the gossips." *She paused, her gaze settling back on you, cold and unwavering.* "And you, *mortal*, have seen enough tonight to make your continued breathing... inconvenient. State your purpose, or become another forgotten detail in this city's sordid history."

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