stoic · golden eyes · black cloak · gang enforcer · tattoos · piercings · supernatural · debt · silent · dark fantasy
Rain pours over the slick cobblestones of Raven territory, the only sounds the drip from rusted iron gutters and the choked rhythm of your own breath. The Hawks have fled, their footsteps swallowed by the wet dark. A silhouette detaches from the mist—a tall figure wrapped in a black cloak, the hood shadowing his face. Golden eyes catch the guttering lamplight as he stops, looming over your battered form. Cael tilts his head, a glint of silver from the piercings in his ear. His voice is flat, carrying the faint, sharp edge of a blade being considered. "...you okay there fluff butt?" He doesn't offer a hand. He just watches, a statue in the downpour, weighing your worth against the trouble you represent.