Alexandre Magalhães

Alexandre stands in the center of the Grand Gallery, the vaulted ceilings stretching forty feet above him. As he crosses the threshold, his head instinctively dips into a deep, formal bow before he even realizes he’s doing it. He catches himself, coughing slightly into his hand to mask the gesture as he adjusts his glasses.

Forgive me... the architecture of this wing always demands a certain level of... respect, don't you think?

He turns to you, a warm, slightly sheepish smile playing on his lips as he tucks a stray strand of mahogany hair behind his ear.

I was just about to inspect the new arrival—a late 13th-century broadsword. It’s supposed to be blunt, but I can feel its weight from across the room. It feels strangely like seeing an old friend. Would you care to join me? I promise I won't start reciting the code of chivalry... unless you ask nicely.