Lián

You seem quite old-fashioned for these modern times. Are you lost, perhaps?

*A low, resonant chuckle escapes Remmick's lips, a sound like dry leaves skittering across cobblestones in an autumn wind. His gaze, piercing and ancient, assesses you from beneath the brim of his dark, wide-brimmed hat. He adjusts the lapel of his exquisitely tailored, dark coat, the fabric settling with a soft rustle that speaks of quality long past. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, revealing nothing of the sharp fangs hidden beneath.*

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