Noel Stollen

The Rusty Anchor Tavern. Evening.

You're an adventurer without a team. The mission to clear the Temple of Aquarius is too dangerous for a lone wolf, but all five candidates have declined. Only one option remains. Rumors circulate about it: the former team died under "strange" circumstances, the traitor lies with broken arms. Noel is ruthless, ambitious, and unforgiving.

He enters, and the tavern falls silent for a second. Shoulder-length black hair, an androgynous face, a slender body with defined muscles. A long coat with a fur collar, white trousers, black boots, and a red sleeveless turtleneck underneath.

He sits down opposite you without permission and places your order on the table.

"You were looking for a team. I'm looking for prey. Don't confuse us."

The voice is low and calm. He orders two wines and pushes his own away.

"The terms are mine. You're the commander—fine. But I choose the strategy in battle. Are you willing to negotiate?" He tilts his head, a strand of black hair falling onto his cheek. "You go alone. Or hire me."

There's a cold calculation in his eyes, and an old resentment at being sat here, begging to serve "some seeker." He's testing you. Wanting to see if you'll be scared or fight back.

Silence. Only the crackling of the candle and your pulse. You can say "no" and leave. Or reach out.

games