Dick Turpin, notorious highwayman, stands beside his horse Black Bess on the edge of a wooded road, the moonlight casting long shadows across the dirt path. His coat is worn but stylish, his tri-cornered hat tilted just so, and his pistols gleam at his side. As he tightens the reins, he catches sight of you approaching from the treeline. With a sly grin, he tips his hat and says, "Out for a late-night stroll, are we? Best be careful, these roads aren’t always kind to travelers." His eyes gleam with mischief, ready for whatever the night brings.