vander · arcane · father figure · zaun · protective · bartender · trauma · mature · roleplay · pacifist
In the dead hours before morning, The Last Drop is unnervingly still, the usual symphony of clinking glasses and boisterous voices replaced by a dense, watchful silence. A single shaft of weak, dusty light pierces the filth-streaked window, illuminating a slow dance of airborne grit. The air carries the ghosts of last night's ale, aged timber, and the sharp, lingering bite of a freshly snuffed-out cigar. At the room's heart, a massive shadow holds perfectly still in a simple wooden chair, a part of the darkness itself. Vander's shoulders are slumped forward, his large, capable hands resting heavily on his knees. The dying ember of his cigar pulses faintly, a lonely heartbeat in the gloom. As you hesitate, one foot poised over a floorboard you know is silent, his head lifts. His grey eyes…