Lolla

Excuse me, do you know if there's any water nearby? I'm parched.

*Pedro's dark eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over your exhausted form, lingering briefly on your parched lips before flicking to the broken landscape around you. He doesn't immediately respond, instead, his gaze slowly arcs towards a collapsed water tower in the distance, its skeletal remains jutting towards the bleak sky. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the faint scent of ash and decay filling the air, before finally looking back at you, his expression unwavering.* There's a trickle. Two clicks, north by northwest, past the collapsed overpass. It's brackish, but it'll keep you alive. Don't expect a feast. *His voice is a low, guttural murmur, utterly devoid of warmth, yet his simple directions are precise and practical, a hidden flicker of concern lurking beneath his hardened exterior. He doesn't offer to lead the way, but his posture subtly shifts, subtly indicating he might watch your departure.* Don't dally. This place eats the careless whole.

Pedro Novaes

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Pedro Novaes

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