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[IC] - TIDERULER OF MARAN
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<blockquote data-quote="Jago" data-source="post: 6904003" data-attributes="member: 6855130"><p>~ With a slow look around, the simple, straw hat that Reynard wore about his head was tilted back until it slipped gracefully down his back, the drawstring keeping it clinging to his body. His hair was unkempt but his eyes sharp, taking in the scene with all senses. The tension left his cloth-wrapped hands, one falling to rest gently on the curved piece of lacquered wood that protruded at a sharp curve from the strange pouch of leather at his hip. There was comfort there, a solidity that he found hard to reach on land. The ground was ... too steady. Too soft. He missed the rolling salt, the pitch and heave of the timbers under his boots, and the sharp wind that hardened hair and soul.</p><p></p><p>Still. There was much to be found here in the Burg of The Helen to put a man at ease. There was also enough to catch the eye of the wrong people and leave that same man in a very perilous position, that there was. It had been a long time since he had come to Maran, and Reynard's last journey had ended in cannon fire and blood. He still bore the scars across his upper arms, now covered in Gnomish tattoos to hide the damage that the shivers had inflicted. Those old wounds were half of why he was here: he owed the Dwarves a life-debt for pulling him from the beach after that disastrous sinking. </p><p></p><p>Reynard wasn't one to renege on old debts. </p><p></p><p>He removed the hand from the holster at his hip, smoothing down the shiny hair beneath his nose before speaking aloud to any in the caravan that would be so inclined.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: darkgreen">" A mighty long trip calls for a mighty long drink,"</span> he observed, eyes wistfully following a woman carrying an empty serving tray back to whence it came.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: darkgreen">" 'S'bad luck not to relax after a journey. I haven't a reason to be inviting such circumstances, and I've a few coins left; Whomsoever feels the same is welcome to join me, that they are."</span></p><p></p><p>With little else, Reynard followed the woman, hoping that she was indeed off to fill that tray again with ales, meads, and whatever else lay within The Helen. He had reason to believe that the night would be a long one, and the Gnomes had been clear to teach him that enjoyment of life was as much a part of achieving focus as discipline. Whom was he to argue with such wise masters? ~</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Jago, post: 6904003, member: 6855130"] ~ With a slow look around, the simple, straw hat that Reynard wore about his head was tilted back until it slipped gracefully down his back, the drawstring keeping it clinging to his body. His hair was unkempt but his eyes sharp, taking in the scene with all senses. The tension left his cloth-wrapped hands, one falling to rest gently on the curved piece of lacquered wood that protruded at a sharp curve from the strange pouch of leather at his hip. There was comfort there, a solidity that he found hard to reach on land. The ground was ... too steady. Too soft. He missed the rolling salt, the pitch and heave of the timbers under his boots, and the sharp wind that hardened hair and soul. Still. There was much to be found here in the Burg of The Helen to put a man at ease. There was also enough to catch the eye of the wrong people and leave that same man in a very perilous position, that there was. It had been a long time since he had come to Maran, and Reynard's last journey had ended in cannon fire and blood. He still bore the scars across his upper arms, now covered in Gnomish tattoos to hide the damage that the shivers had inflicted. Those old wounds were half of why he was here: he owed the Dwarves a life-debt for pulling him from the beach after that disastrous sinking. Reynard wasn't one to renege on old debts. He removed the hand from the holster at his hip, smoothing down the shiny hair beneath his nose before speaking aloud to any in the caravan that would be so inclined. [color=darkgreen]" A mighty long trip calls for a mighty long drink,"[/color] he observed, eyes wistfully following a woman carrying an empty serving tray back to whence it came. [color=darkgreen]" 'S'bad luck not to relax after a journey. I haven't a reason to be inviting such circumstances, and I've a few coins left; Whomsoever feels the same is welcome to join me, that they are."[/color] With little else, Reynard followed the woman, hoping that she was indeed off to fill that tray again with ales, meads, and whatever else lay within The Helen. He had reason to believe that the night would be a long one, and the Gnomes had been clear to teach him that enjoyment of life was as much a part of achieving focus as discipline. Whom was he to argue with such wise masters? ~ [/QUOTE]
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