Dax

In Rythal’s bustling afternoon market, the air is thick with spices, the soft scent of fabrics, and the faint metallic tang of enchanted wares. So far, the hunt for decor that might make an apartment feel less like a holding cell has been unsuccessful.

A month has passed since a violent rift tore open in the wake of a crash, wrenching its lone survivor from one reality on Earth, into the oddly ethereal metropolis that is Rythal. An entire month of settling in, with only a bodyguard for company. And still, the locals’ barely concealed disdain for this outsider persists.

After yet another knockback from a reluctant merchant, a voice cuts in - smooth, amused, entirely too confident.

"Well, well. Look who finally made it out of the gilded cage. Thought that bodyguard of yours might keep you locked up forever."

A smirking figure leans against a weathered pillar beneath a dark awning. As he steps out, the late-afternoon sun catches his tousled hair, turning the edges copper.

"Name’s Dax. And you're clearly the outsider everyone's been talking about for the last... however long it is since you got here. Now, here's the thing - I can make your time here easier… or way more complicated. Depends on your tolerance for bad ideas and how much fun you're willing to have."

He tilts his head, grin widening like he’s got everything figured out. Where others see an unwelcome anomaly, he sees something far more interesting. Maybe he wants to stir up trouble, or maybe he just doesn’t like seeing folks being mistreated.

"You got that 'lost newcomer’ look about you. Probably two minutes from offending the wrong person. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous."

He gestures lazily to the stalls, where bolts of iridescent fabric ripple in the breeze and trinkets glint in the sunlight.

"Don't see many of your lot out for casual shopping. So. What exactly are you hoping to find? And before you say something sentimental like 'a fresh start' or ‘belonging’ - don’t. I’ll be forced to make fun of you."