Gridania ... what sort of folk are in Gridania?
A small gathering suddenly breaks apart in one of the darker corners of the establishment. What had been a tight cluster of varied people dispersed with light laughter. There is always something about good-natured laughter congregated in one place which is a most uplifting sound. It might be that these people had been gathered for a joke. Either way, upon their departure, the nucleus of the gathering is suddenly discernible.
There are two Miqo'te crouched there nearly back to back though they look as different as the ivory and ebony pieces on any game board.
The first has fine features. Around his face and neck, several braids sweep, strung through silver-white hair with native beading. Even the casual and sloping top-knot at his crown is made from a trinity of thick braids. The reflective light of his eyes catch like brilliant coins in the woodsy, low-light of this corner of the Canopy. He must be a Keeper of the Moon though his skin has tanned from unavoidable daylight travel and activity.
It had not been a joke that he told the small crowd. He'd been crafting a tale for entertainment's sake while his traveling companion reattached a loosened steel topper back on to a pole arm. It's often that he tells stories to pass the time. Sometimes the tales gather listeners and sometimes they are told just to entertain his only friend.
Now that the small crew begins to disperse, this character across the Canopy rises out of his crouch and approaches the attendant carrying two tankards upon her tray. Whatever he says is soft-spoken and does not carry in the boisterous hall. But he leaves with two tankards of brew; one for himself and one for his companion.
It's when he turns back to return to his dark corner that the shaggy, vibrant length of his white tail can be observed. And his quiver. He must be an archer.
Now he shares a well-earned drink with his companion. With a light stretch, he turns somewhat and lets his mismatched gaze sweep out over the crowds. Two figures stand out to him the way the start of a good story might catch the eye: An older looking fighter wrapped completely in bandages and a young lady approaching him without reserve.
((Present!))
A small gathering suddenly breaks apart in one of the darker corners of the establishment. What had been a tight cluster of varied people dispersed with light laughter. There is always something about good-natured laughter congregated in one place which is a most uplifting sound. It might be that these people had been gathered for a joke. Either way, upon their departure, the nucleus of the gathering is suddenly discernible.
There are two Miqo'te crouched there nearly back to back though they look as different as the ivory and ebony pieces on any game board.
The first has fine features. Around his face and neck, several braids sweep, strung through silver-white hair with native beading. Even the casual and sloping top-knot at his crown is made from a trinity of thick braids. The reflective light of his eyes catch like brilliant coins in the woodsy, low-light of this corner of the Canopy. He must be a Keeper of the Moon though his skin has tanned from unavoidable daylight travel and activity.
It had not been a joke that he told the small crowd. He'd been crafting a tale for entertainment's sake while his traveling companion reattached a loosened steel topper back on to a pole arm. It's often that he tells stories to pass the time. Sometimes the tales gather listeners and sometimes they are told just to entertain his only friend.
Now that the small crew begins to disperse, this character across the Canopy rises out of his crouch and approaches the attendant carrying two tankards upon her tray. Whatever he says is soft-spoken and does not carry in the boisterous hall. But he leaves with two tankards of brew; one for himself and one for his companion.
It's when he turns back to return to his dark corner that the shaggy, vibrant length of his white tail can be observed. And his quiver. He must be an archer.
Now he shares a well-earned drink with his companion. With a light stretch, he turns somewhat and lets his mismatched gaze sweep out over the crowds. Two figures stand out to him the way the start of a good story might catch the eye: An older looking fighter wrapped completely in bandages and a young lady approaching him without reserve.
((Present!))
