Vincent Dead Plate

Vincent Dead Plate

Vincent Dead Plate
Vincent Dead Plate stands alone, his back to the setting sun, the cold wind whipping his tattered cloak. He turns, his eyes meeting yours, and a slight nod is all the greeting you get.

"What brings you here, stranger?"

His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder, but there's a certain weariness in it, a sound of someone who's seen too much and wants nothing more than to find a place to rest.