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located in West Virginia, a part of Fallout: Whiteout, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Niklas stared at the rusty blade, unsure what to say to the male. "It's broken beyond my repair. I would ask Yen - He's far better at that than i ever could be. Actually, better than anyone, i think." He muttered, starting to listen to Yen's Story.

The look on Niklas' face was one of astonishment and suprise. He had never truly listened to Yen before. He tapped Yen on the shoulder, and decided he owed him an apology. In a quick movement, unmasked himself and pulled his hood down. "Yen, i must be honest, you're far more interesting than you let on. I haven't been totally truthful to you, so i'll let it out. I'm Niklas Amsler, one of the four Swordsmen of the Apocalypse -See what we did there?- and i'm Not German. English, actually. I'd like to apologise for my constant disguise, and would like to make it up to you. How about i pay for the next few rounds of beer, eh?" He laughed, his English accent coming through thickly.

"Now, i apologise for intruding." He smiled, extending a hand for Yen. Mainly for a handshake. "Still dislike me?"