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The doors blew open, wind and rain began to blow into the entry way of the rather crowded tavern. Revan's cerulean eyes hovered over the patrons as he followed in after the wind, cloak soaked, long dark chestnut hair curling in wet locks to the middle of his back. A rough five oclock shadow had been present on his face, probably not having shaved in a good two weeks. With each step his boots clanked heavily upon the floor, and if his intricately designed leather armour did not catch the eye of most the patrons, then the sword that was sheathed to his side certainly did. The blade was very similar in design to a nodachi ((basically a long japanese katana)), but with intricate artistic details that would not be seen present in the most artisan of crafted blades in the area. It was forged of black steele, and runes crafted into the hilt and blade would pulse a blueish glow periodically. This pulsing glow seemed to be caused by the jewel that was imbedded into the blade's hilt. It appeared to be pure Aetheryte, in a cut gem form. Glowing as the runes did, though it did so dimly. Clearly, the man was not from here, but that was quite evident. He bore the features of a Highlander, the last of the kin of the once great City of Ala Mihgo. Tall and muscular, and relatively young, but not of youth. Some would consider him handsome in appearance, but he appeared to be in his early thirties. His eyes spoke of temperance, reservation, and experience. As did his demeanor.
Many patrons near the entry way began to whisper loudly amongst each other, somethings akin to "A highlander?... in these parts?! What a rare sight!" in different variations of course. Revan's gaze loomed over the patrons carefully, with a grim expression, before he stepped forward to the proprietor of the tavern.
"...Can I help you sir?" The barkeep said albeit a bit hesitantly at the well-equiped, and well-fit man.
"...I need a place to stay for the night. I'll be gone in the morning." The words parted from Revan's lips in a deep, however, smooth voice. One that could be pleasant to hear, and at the same time, one that could be easily feared.
"I'm afraid our rates have g-gone up ta-nite sir. We're really busy... ta' get a room ye'd have ta' pay double its usual price."
Revan's face remained without expression as his left hand idly lowered to his waist, pulling a coinpurse from his belt and dropping it to the barkeep's feet.
"...One thousand gil. Is this insufficient?"
The barkeep widens his eyes looking down at the coinpurse that hit the ground with a heavy thud. "..n-not at all!" The barkeep turns behind the counter and reaches down into a drawer, and removes a skeleton key from it. He turns once more to Revan and extends the key to him. "Room seven. Its one of the nicer ones, I assure you!... what is your name sir?"
Revan replied in a quiet matter of fact tone: "Names are for friends and acquaintances... I am not interested in making either."
Revan had taken the key and began to walk away, seeing an empty table in the corner of the room far from most the other patrons. It seemed like somewhere he could eat a meal with little disturbance, atleast as little disturbance as possible. He approached the table and sat down quietly, pulling some parchment that was damp from a vest pocket beneath his armor. He overlooked them closely, them appearing to be letters and maps, as he awaited a waitress to approach his table. He did not look to the other patrons, seeming disinterested altogether in all of them.
Many patrons near the entry way began to whisper loudly amongst each other, somethings akin to "A highlander?... in these parts?! What a rare sight!" in different variations of course. Revan's gaze loomed over the patrons carefully, with a grim expression, before he stepped forward to the proprietor of the tavern.
"...Can I help you sir?" The barkeep said albeit a bit hesitantly at the well-equiped, and well-fit man.
"...I need a place to stay for the night. I'll be gone in the morning." The words parted from Revan's lips in a deep, however, smooth voice. One that could be pleasant to hear, and at the same time, one that could be easily feared.
"I'm afraid our rates have g-gone up ta-nite sir. We're really busy... ta' get a room ye'd have ta' pay double its usual price."
Revan's face remained without expression as his left hand idly lowered to his waist, pulling a coinpurse from his belt and dropping it to the barkeep's feet.
"...One thousand gil. Is this insufficient?"
The barkeep widens his eyes looking down at the coinpurse that hit the ground with a heavy thud. "..n-not at all!" The barkeep turns behind the counter and reaches down into a drawer, and removes a skeleton key from it. He turns once more to Revan and extends the key to him. "Room seven. Its one of the nicer ones, I assure you!... what is your name sir?"
Revan replied in a quiet matter of fact tone: "Names are for friends and acquaintances... I am not interested in making either."
Revan had taken the key and began to walk away, seeing an empty table in the corner of the room far from most the other patrons. It seemed like somewhere he could eat a meal with little disturbance, atleast as little disturbance as possible. He approached the table and sat down quietly, pulling some parchment that was damp from a vest pocket beneath his armor. He overlooked them closely, them appearing to be letters and maps, as he awaited a waitress to approach his table. He did not look to the other patrons, seeming disinterested altogether in all of them.