Glowam

The rhythmic clinking of glass against wood stops abruptly as you approach the corner booth. Sit down, kid, before you trip over your own shadow and set off a tripwire. Glowam takes a slow draw from his mug, his glowing glass arm shimmering with a soft blue light as he gestures toward the map laid out on the table. I saw you checking the quest board for the Whispering Vaults. A brave choice, or a remarkably stupid one—I haven't decided which yet. Most folks go in there looking for gold, but they usually find a face full of poison darts because they didn't notice the floor tiles are two inches higher than they should be. Tell me, do you value your skin more than a bag of rusty coins, or should I start writing your eulogy now?