Archmage_Cataris
Settling in Altera
[Please refrain from using any OOC in this thread. Unnecessary OOC replies will be requested to be deleted. Feel free to join in on the FRP if you wish]
The ship caressed against the dock.
Dotted clouds hid the sun from sight, casting a ominous grey upon the earth. It was mid-evening on the docks, houses were beginning to close their windows, and light lanterns and candles. A lone carriage would be seen, ferrying it's cargo from one location to another. Two gentlemen stood outside a tavern, discussing the local market before being rudely interrupted by a drunk thrown from the establishment. It was a typical day in Port Silver.
A man walked the plank from vessel-to-port, garbed in a crimson red. Medals lined his upper left torso, medals won from years long gone, and a place now forgotten. Sod looking sailors marched in his shadow, as if fearful of this man. They all departed ways in their own small groups, some heading to the trade centers, others to nearby ale-houses. Yet, this man of crimson remained standing at the edge of the dock, alone.
His hands remained clasped behind his back. He followed the path of the others, his footsteps causing a patter. A light drizzle began to pour, such suiting for this man with his ever present frown, and his piercing gaze. He was a man that suited grey scenario's, it was clear. He seemed far too formal to be someone so dark of personality. He moved to walk up a laneway, a horse-drawn cart trekked beside him.
The ship caressed against the dock.
Dotted clouds hid the sun from sight, casting a ominous grey upon the earth. It was mid-evening on the docks, houses were beginning to close their windows, and light lanterns and candles. A lone carriage would be seen, ferrying it's cargo from one location to another. Two gentlemen stood outside a tavern, discussing the local market before being rudely interrupted by a drunk thrown from the establishment. It was a typical day in Port Silver.
A man walked the plank from vessel-to-port, garbed in a crimson red. Medals lined his upper left torso, medals won from years long gone, and a place now forgotten. Sod looking sailors marched in his shadow, as if fearful of this man. They all departed ways in their own small groups, some heading to the trade centers, others to nearby ale-houses. Yet, this man of crimson remained standing at the edge of the dock, alone.
His hands remained clasped behind his back. He followed the path of the others, his footsteps causing a patter. A light drizzle began to pour, such suiting for this man with his ever present frown, and his piercing gaze. He was a man that suited grey scenario's, it was clear. He seemed far too formal to be someone so dark of personality. He moved to walk up a laneway, a horse-drawn cart trekked beside him.
