A wonderfully kind contest.

A quiet, dark street; I walk again in the shadows of these black houses, full of malice, behind each window of which murderers and thieves lurk. I cautiously avoid the few streetlights that are lit. I walk in the shadows. The next house I want to visit is deep within the courtyards. A half-overgrown path runs among the semi-ruined houses; be careful! There are traps everywhere... on the ground lies the body of an unlucky visitor, a dart sticking out of his head. A little further on, I carefully step over a thin tripwire, then another, bypass a couple of camouflaged traps, disarm a snare, and climb over old crates onto the balcony of the second floor of a dilapidated house. There he is, sitting on his sofa and sipping rum. This man's soul is as black as night; malice and hatred gleam in his eyes with a dazzling light, and a perpetual smirk is on his face. He knows how to use his position to his advantage, to betray, to deceive, to kill... nothing is sacred to him. I shuddered at the sight of this guy; it's time to leave, otherwise I risk being noticed. Voice for Arandor