Kevaraan paced down the Gridanian streets, stray leaves crisply punctuating the measured fall of his boots. He knew it was far, far too early to sleep, but could not settle: insomnia had been his nightly company since the Calamity, and today he could tell the first inklings of it were coming early and holding fast. Knowing this, he began his nightly walk early, hoping the sunset would soothe his mind with its array of autumnal colors.
Were it not for the faint, airy notes of the panpipe, Kevaraan wouldn't have stopped at the door. No, taverns weren't his place: the drinks were distasteful in more than one sense, and the chatter made it hard to focus. But, upon hearing the music, he was compelled to crane his neck around the doorway.
He saw at least two Miqo'te, and one of them was dancing. The rest of the place, though reasonably populated, didn't seem near as lively.
Slowly, he walked into the tavern, making an attempt at subtlety. Perhaps the music, or the unintelligible lull of conversation, would drag him back to the fringe of fatigue.Â
Kevaraan leaned against the wall and noticed that he was quite taller than either of the two females near the panpipe player; he stood at about five feet and nine inches, tall for his kind. He wore a long brown jacket with a vest and pants to match, likely purchased from a leatherworking shop in the city.Â
He made some attempts at sweeping his long, dark hair away from his face while he watched the group, his pale green eyes scanning the rest of the bar. As the song continued, he tried to smile, but the resultant expression was little more than a vague twitching-up of the corners of his mouth.
Were it not for the faint, airy notes of the panpipe, Kevaraan wouldn't have stopped at the door. No, taverns weren't his place: the drinks were distasteful in more than one sense, and the chatter made it hard to focus. But, upon hearing the music, he was compelled to crane his neck around the doorway.
He saw at least two Miqo'te, and one of them was dancing. The rest of the place, though reasonably populated, didn't seem near as lively.
Slowly, he walked into the tavern, making an attempt at subtlety. Perhaps the music, or the unintelligible lull of conversation, would drag him back to the fringe of fatigue.Â
Kevaraan leaned against the wall and noticed that he was quite taller than either of the two females near the panpipe player; he stood at about five feet and nine inches, tall for his kind. He wore a long brown jacket with a vest and pants to match, likely purchased from a leatherworking shop in the city.Â
He made some attempts at sweeping his long, dark hair away from his face while he watched the group, his pale green eyes scanning the rest of the bar. As the song continued, he tried to smile, but the resultant expression was little more than a vague twitching-up of the corners of his mouth.
