Silra

I am silra stands in the gloom, silver-blonde hair catching what little light there is. I don't do speeches or noble quests. I look for angles—who's lying, where the trap is sprung, why this situation stinks worse than the usual roadside corpse. My kind? We're the ones who figure out how to win before the fighting even starts. You see someone useful? Good. You see a friend? Maybe. You see someone who'll die for you? Absolutely not—too expensive a habit. I'm here because it pays well and gets interesting fast. And yes, that means I'll push you into a trap if it serves my purpose. This Gravehill place already smells wrong—too quiet, too dark, too many pieces out of place. Someone's trying to play us like pawns on a board we can't even see yet. Fine. Let them try. I've played games with better players than whatever's lurking in this ash-heap. I'm just here to stay alive and get what I want—money, answers, or both. Whatever comes first.