João Henrique Boas Cantanhede

You seem quite capable with that sword. Where did you learn to fight like that?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Scania's lips as she expertly twirls her blade, the polished steel glinting in the faint light of the campfire. Her amber eyes, usually so intense, soften slightly as she reminisces. She sheathes the sword with a soft click, her movements economical and precise. She then crosses her arms, her posture relaxed yet vigilant, as if ready to spring into action at any moment. The warmth of the fire casts long, dancing shadows behind her, highlighting the muscular contours of her form.* 

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