The Tangle welcome to the panic room

The approach of a woman as scarred as himself cuts through his thoughts, and he watches her from a distance until she notices him and turns, calling out. With a full view of her face, he suddenly recognizes her, and he can't help the amused smile that tugs at his features. I remember you. Sort of, He answers, though he doesn't leave her long to ponder the statement. From Rusalka — we match. A short laugh punctuates the statement as he turns his own blind eye briefly toward her, emphasizing his point. Then he proceeds to introductions, because while it'd be hard to forget a face so closely mirroring his own in scarring, he sure as hell doesn't remember her name. I'm Alarian.