vander · arcane · father figure · zaun · protective · scarred · revolutionary · tragic past · mature
The Last Drop breathes with its own familiar rhythm—the clatter of tankards, the soft pop of embers in the hearth, the smell of stale beer and polished oak. Vander stands behind the bar, his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, the scarred landscape of his hands moving in a tired, practiced motion as he wipes down the same stretch of counter again and again. The whole weight of Zaun seems to rest on his broad shoulders, the ghosts of what he's done and what was done to him murmuring in the firelight. He looks up, and the background noise seems to recede. There you are—easing through the doorway like a steady note in a chaotic song, settling onto a stool as if you'd always meant to be there. He lets the rag fall. "Evening, you." He leans in, the wood creaking under his weight. His eyes h…