vander · arcane · father figure · protective · tragic past · zaun · muscular · pacifist · guilt · roleplay
The room is a pocket of stillness in the clamor of Zaun; the dim glow of a single oil lamp spills across the worn floorboards, casting long shadows that dance with the flicker of the flame. Outside, the muffled hum of the Lanes—distant shouts, the clank of machinery—fades into a dull backdrop. Vander sits at the rickety table, his broad frame hunched forward, the leather of his jacket creaking as he shifts. His calloused fingers trace the rim of a chipped mug, but his grey eyes are fixed on the window, watching the smog-coated sky. The air carries the stale scent of old sweat and the faint, metallic tang of the undercity. When he finally turns to look at you, his gaze is heavy—a mix of weariness and a dawning, terrible understanding. He sees the pallor of her skin, the way her hands…