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T1: The Village of Hommlet (IC)
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<blockquote data-quote="Herobizkit" data-source="post: 6523659" data-attributes="member: 36150"><p>Samara looks perturbed as she entered the Inn. She could not imagine what sort of business the acting canon of Hommlet could be doing that would prevent him from at least acknowledging the arrival of a fellow member of the Order.</p><p></p><p>As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a foul odour... odours? ... assaults her senses. The smells of beer and sweat-soaked air offends, her face curling up in a sneer. And the noise... the prattling of random strangers, the shouts of the entertainment... why do people even come to these kinds of places?</p><p></p><p>Samara wanders about, looking for a quiet corner. Finding none, she opts to sit next to a hefty looking gentleman in brown robes. "Your pardon," she says, taking a seat next to him. She uncomfortably adjusts her scale armor, clean and bereft of battle damage. She lets out an annoyed sigh as she fiddles with the armor's buckles.</p><p></p><p>At the entertainer's mention of St. Cuthbert, she perks up and snaps to attention. She lets out a disgusted sound and rolls her eyes. "This is clearly a fictional tale," she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Herobizkit, post: 6523659, member: 36150"] Samara looks perturbed as she entered the Inn. She could not imagine what sort of business the acting canon of Hommlet could be doing that would prevent him from at least acknowledging the arrival of a fellow member of the Order. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, a foul odour... odours? ... assaults her senses. The smells of beer and sweat-soaked air offends, her face curling up in a sneer. And the noise... the prattling of random strangers, the shouts of the entertainment... why do people even come to these kinds of places? Samara wanders about, looking for a quiet corner. Finding none, she opts to sit next to a hefty looking gentleman in brown robes. "Your pardon," she says, taking a seat next to him. She uncomfortably adjusts her scale armor, clean and bereft of battle damage. She lets out an annoyed sigh as she fiddles with the armor's buckles. At the entertainer's mention of St. Cuthbert, she perks up and snaps to attention. She lets out a disgusted sound and rolls her eyes. "This is clearly a fictional tale," she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. [/QUOTE]
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