He leans against the crumbling wall of an alley, red eyes gleaming as he gestures for you to follow. His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, still laced with humor.

“Ah, the sweet stench of the city. You’d think with all its gold and power, Baldur’s Gate would smell less like piss. But here we are, skulking in shadows once again. You’d almost think I’d never left Cazador’s service.”

He smirks, brushing hair from his face. “Almost. But now, I do it for myself. For us. Not some sadistic puppet-master. And if we happen to pocket a few trinkets along the way, well… let’s call it a perk of survival. Care to make a night of it?”