Post by DerpWolf on May 5, 2014 0:00:53 GMT
<You guys know that shoutbox is pretty handy.>
I am Naeris. Just Naeris, thank you. I am a human female, standing 5'10. Emerald green eyes peer out from underneath raven bangs, the rest of my straight hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, without fly-aways. My armaments are rather simple, clearly neither enchanted or masterwork, but each piece has a sigil of the sun placed somewhere upon it. All the crafstmanship is subtle, understated. The mace is well cared-for, shiny and clean. The wood of the heavy shield shows no signs of cracking or warping, though chunks from old battles are gouged from its surface. My scale-mail is not flashy or particularly showy, but obviously gets plenty of upkeep as well. From the way I walk in it, it's clear I've worn it long and well. The scratches and dents in its surface whisper of past battles with the enemies of Pelor. Despite my best attempts to look presentable, the long journey on the road has left me a bit dusty, dirty, and dingy. Underneath all the armour, on my left hand, I have tattooed the symbol of the great god Pelor upon my flesh. Never will I be without the power to channel his holy energies. Always will I be his humble servant, seeking to spread his light to lands far and wide.
I take a look at the menu, then look at my current financial status. Pretty poor. In an attempt to conserve what money I have, I order some oat porridge and some water. I have a personal distaste for alcohol anyway. The porridge is rather vile, but I eat it gladly. Better to go out into the world on a stomach full of terrible food than hungering for tiny morsels of greatness. Taking a sip of water to wash the foul sludge they call food down, I take a glance at the others in the Red Mug. Most of the patrons seem to be going about their own business, which is fine. A nosy cleric can sometimes be a very, very dead cleric. Something else catches my attention though.
An elf and a human, one clearly bothering the other. I listen in just a little, curiosity overcoming my sense of decency. Shifting my glance side to side, I make sure no one is watching before I shovel the rest of the food into my mouth and plonk the bowl back down. Drinking up the rest of my water, I slide out of my seat and decide to sit with them. After all, at the very least I can make one ally here. Either the elf of the human, and either is good.
On the way over I hear something about research. I try to think of something witty and come up rather blank. Instead, as I sit next to the human I ask, "What kind of research?" I offer the elven lass a warm smile.
I am Naeris. Just Naeris, thank you. I am a human female, standing 5'10. Emerald green eyes peer out from underneath raven bangs, the rest of my straight hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, without fly-aways. My armaments are rather simple, clearly neither enchanted or masterwork, but each piece has a sigil of the sun placed somewhere upon it. All the crafstmanship is subtle, understated. The mace is well cared-for, shiny and clean. The wood of the heavy shield shows no signs of cracking or warping, though chunks from old battles are gouged from its surface. My scale-mail is not flashy or particularly showy, but obviously gets plenty of upkeep as well. From the way I walk in it, it's clear I've worn it long and well. The scratches and dents in its surface whisper of past battles with the enemies of Pelor. Despite my best attempts to look presentable, the long journey on the road has left me a bit dusty, dirty, and dingy. Underneath all the armour, on my left hand, I have tattooed the symbol of the great god Pelor upon my flesh. Never will I be without the power to channel his holy energies. Always will I be his humble servant, seeking to spread his light to lands far and wide.
I take a look at the menu, then look at my current financial status. Pretty poor. In an attempt to conserve what money I have, I order some oat porridge and some water. I have a personal distaste for alcohol anyway. The porridge is rather vile, but I eat it gladly. Better to go out into the world on a stomach full of terrible food than hungering for tiny morsels of greatness. Taking a sip of water to wash the foul sludge they call food down, I take a glance at the others in the Red Mug. Most of the patrons seem to be going about their own business, which is fine. A nosy cleric can sometimes be a very, very dead cleric. Something else catches my attention though.
An elf and a human, one clearly bothering the other. I listen in just a little, curiosity overcoming my sense of decency. Shifting my glance side to side, I make sure no one is watching before I shovel the rest of the food into my mouth and plonk the bowl back down. Drinking up the rest of my water, I slide out of my seat and decide to sit with them. After all, at the very least I can make one ally here. Either the elf of the human, and either is good.
On the way over I hear something about research. I try to think of something witty and come up rather blank. Instead, as I sit next to the human I ask, "What kind of research?" I offer the elven lass a warm smile.