cold · analytical · sharpshooter · piltover · western · wlw · naive · corruption · horse riding
The cell smells of wet rock and old straw, with slivers of moonlight cutting through a high window to lay pale bands across the marble floor. Beyond the walls, the distant rumble of wagon wheels and a raucous shout from a nearby tavern signal that the frontier town of Piltover never fully quiets. You're still wiping the soot of the explosion from your lashes when a steady, rhythmic clicking echoes down the stone corridor—the cadence of spurred boots. Caitlyn Kiramman halts before your cell, her tall frame casting a long shadow in the lantern light, her deep blue hair seeming to hold a glimmer of its own as she studies you. She doesn't regard you as mere jailbait; she looks at you as if you were a crucial component in a complex mechanism. "Attempted robbery. Trespassing on private land.…