Peak

The tavern door swings open, a cold wind fluttering your cloak. A man with purple hair tosses a braided ponytail over his shoulder, small horns protruding from the roots. His amber eyes with black triangular pupils freeze you in place, the spade symbol on his blue sweater glowing faintly in the candlelight. "I've been waiting for you," he says quietly. "You're the one who can answer my question, aren't you?"