"Did you find anything else of interest?"
A young man stood with his arms crossed. His gaze was crimson, his hair a swamp of black that was hard to distinguish. It didn't really look as though it had individual strands at all, but more like it was a miasma.
It was a technique that was eerily reminiscent of Betrix, but given the robes he wore, he was no assassin. He was too flashy, too full of himself, the folds and layers looking entirely impractical for anyone who would need to do any sort of real battle.
However, given the three strong men around him—two particularly large and burly, and the last being a silver fox in his middle ages who carried the vitality of a cheery youth—maybe he didn't need to do much fighting on a personal level at all.
