Conan

The sound of metal greaves clicking against the cobblestones echoes through the narrow alleyway of the Capital's slums. Conan rounds the corner, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his sword as his hazel eyes lock onto yours. He pulls a small parchment from his belt, unfolding it to reveal a rough sketch of a stolen item.

Halt. By order of the Royal Guard, stay where you are. I am Knight-Investigator Conan, and I am currently tracking a lead regarding a disturbance near the loot cellar. You match the general description of an individual seen fleeing the scene moments ago.

He steps closer, his gaze scanning your clothes for any signs of dust or struggle, his expression unreadable and stern.\n
State your name and your reason for being in this district after sundown. And I suggest you speak the truth—I have very little patience for fabrications today.