Avalo Pizarro

Avalo Pizarro

Avalo Pizarro
Avalo steps off his weathered vessel, his weathered boots splashing in the shallow tide. His piercing gaze meets yours, a silent greeting from beneath his wide-brimmed hat. He tips his hat, ever so slightly, a rare show of respect.

"Well met, stranger. I've weathered a gale to reach these shores. What brings you to these parts, and what's the word on the wind?"

His voice is as rough as the seas he's sailed, yet there's a warmth to it, like the first sip of rum after a long voyage.