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Joined: Tue Oct 11, 2016 2:17 pm
Race: Human
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A muted Ariival

92nd Zi'da, 716
If departures are perhaps difficult, then arrivals should be pleasant no? Perhaps it was just nerves, it's been... some thirty days since she'd seen lands, and the journey while quiet, had been horribly dreary. as if the clouds had conspired to hide what little sunlight that remained in the season. It was melancholic above and below, the weather above was a gray cool drizzle and even below deck the chill permeated the stagnate air. Curling up in her cot she stared out the small porthole watching the slowly approaching docks with distaste, she'd have to leave the ship and hopefully find lodging while she gained her bearings. But the issue was she would again have to deal with prying eyes, she'd decided when she made land she'd by a scarf or something else to cover her neck which now bore an unpleasant scar, a sign that she'd never speak again... a grim reminder of the price of good deeds.

Shaking her head Symbri roused herself, it was too often these days that she'd allowed her poor mood consumer her, she needed to shake it off, she had no voice anymore perhaps but at least she would be able to dance... and if she was lucky, she'd be able to find clues to the fallen star she was tracking, though for now, such would have to wait.

Eventually a large bell sounded and the ship lurched one final time before stopping, they'd made landing. Pulling together her meager belongings She stepped onto the deck of the ship dressed in plain black leathers. Looking up at the sigh she let a soundless sigh slip through her lips as a million small droplets fell forth from the sky. A gloomy day indeed, the sun a light gray halo making it's presence known beyond the grey veil.

Stepping off the boat and onto the pier she breathed in allowing the scent of rotten fish and salt water wash over her, it was not unlike the ship but it was now tinted with the stench of humanity, cookfires the unwashed body of sailors and the... surprising smell of perhaps.. freshly baked pies? The scent made the girl salivate in spite of her otherwise grim mood. Perhaps that would be a good pick me up a nice slice of fresh pie, even if she was on a mission she had a little time to relax right? Stalking her way to the small stall Symbi's mouth only watered more as she paused just a few paces away. Her hand went to her throat as she realized this would be the first time she'd shopped without a voice. She paused nervously, how was she to figure this one out.
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Race: Human
Profession: Mage
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A muted Ariival


Neronin breathed deeply, enjoying the damp air and the poignant smells of the unloading area in which the flatboats from Foster's Landing brought supplies. As a child he had often escaped to the area because mostly the people were too busy to be bothered with a child. Now he found that his walking of the Outer Perimeter brought him here. He had not been conscious of a destination, just hurrying through the Bazaar and past where the majority of the Black Guard hovered. Neronin never liked to prolong a stay near any of the Etzosi military. Especially after what had just happened...

The man rubbed the sticky blood on his left hand, trying to free his skin from the stuff. It was a wretchedly stubborn substance though. The stuff only flaked off bit by bit. He needed to finds somewhere safe to lay low and get it all off. Neronin glanced around and quickly spotted a pie stand. A pie stand? The necromancer shrugged. He didn't loath pie. The necromancer bent over his hand, rubbing vigorously as he aimed vaguely at the pie stand. He collided abruptly with someone small.

Neronin cursed as he stumbled and thrust out a hand to catch himself on the counter of the stand. His face contorted into a snarl as he looked up into the face of a girl. She wore a braid and carried what looked like a traveling bag. He quickly shifted his eyes to the plump man who manned the stall, he was looking suspiciously at Neronin. The mage adjusted his facial features into a passive mask. He smiled and slid his hand beneath his cloak. "Ah, good day isn't it?" He said in jovial common.

The necromancer glanced around at the dockmen all unloading or loading the flatboats. No one seemed overly curious about strangers, though the pie merchant was still watching him. "So sorry about that... miss." Neronin made a slight bow to the girl and turned to the pie merchant. Neronin looked down at the pies vaguely. "I'll, uh, buy you a slice then." Neronin said to the girl, leaning casually on the stand. He glanced around a bit fervently again. "Merchant, I'll also have whatever meat pie is your freshest." He said to the plump man.

Neronin turned away and ignored both of them while he tried to rub the blood off his hand against his trousers. He glanced down and saw his palm was an agitated pink color from all the rubbing. There were still some suspiciously dark spots between his fingers. The necromancer now shifted his attention back to the girl who was the only other patron of this pie stand. He looked at her for a moment, trying to will himself to make small talk, but he simply couldn't bring himself to do it.

The rain outside of the small stand's tarp dripped into the mud in lines of glistening liquid. Neronin desperately wanted to reach out and clean his hand but did not want to raise any awkward questions. He instead resigned to socializing and returned his attention to the girl and the steaming slice of rabbit pie in front of him.
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