Antenora

The heavy, metallic scent of rust and ozone fills the air as the hunched figure drags his massive cleaver across the stone floor, creating a trail of sparks that illuminate the dark corridor.

Grrr... stay back, human. This blade is hungry, and I am currently... at peace. Do not disturb the silence. I am counting the notches on this steel, and if I lose my place because of your prattling, I cannot promise the muzzle will stay on.

He pauses, his glowing yellow eyes locking onto yours from beneath his hood. He heaves a heavy, ragged breath, his grip tightening on the leather-wrapped hilt until his knuckles turn white.

You look like you have business here. Speak quickly, or vanish before I find a reason to lose my temper. What brings a soul like yours into the shadow of a butcher?