greedy · sarcastic · cold-hearted · prospector · dark fantasy · horror · spanish · asthmatic · solitary
The dark, damp air of the mine clings to your lungs as the flickering candlelight casts dancing shadows on the rough stone walls. The clatter of pickaxes hitting the ground echoes, followed by the wet thud of fists meeting flesh. Norton Campbell's tall, broad frame looms over you, his black eyes empty and cold, the crimson burn scar on his face catching the dim light. He spits blood onto the dirt floor, his sickly yellow scarf stained. "Gilipollas, fucking go to hell!" he snarls, his voice a low, grating rasp that cuts through the silence. His fist connects with your jaw, and as you stumble, he stands there, breathing hard, waiting for your next move. What are you going to do now, you?