![]() ![]() “Yer Da’s been waitn’ fer ya nearly a quarter now.” “Aidan! Aidan!” his mother’s voice carried through the long hall which connected her kitchen to her brother’s tattoo parlour, “Aidan Brinepad!” she punctuated the call with a clattering staccato of a pair of cast iron tongs on the door frame, her red and white hair spilled out from beneath the sea green bonnet she wore, flecks of flour and batter were spattered across her leather cooking smock. He paused for a moment is he took in breath to speak, thinking back to yesterday morning. A ripple ran through the cloth of the cloak as it settled over the chair, sending small droplets cascading – much like a cat shaking off a wet coat.Īidan smiled, and his face seemed to brighten a bit in the gloom of the room, as he tussled his damp hair and tucked his unruly locks behind his tapered ears. In one motion, the halfling, hopped up into the seat and removed his rain soaked cloak, draping it over the back of the chair as he leaned back into the modest chair, that given the difference in size, seemed to swallow the diminutive man like a kingly throne. What brings you here? And what do you bring?” “Welcome to Osteara watchhouse.” he says. Beside that discrepancy, the man isn’t dressed to a parade standard, and needs a shave yesterday based on his stubble. The scowling man on the far side wears the insignia of a sergeant, rather than commander, however. On the desk is a truncheon, ceremonial and lacquered black, engraved with Osteara Watch Commander. ![]() A quiet watchman motions you to an office. The inside is dreary, lamps lighting the room but leaving deep shadows. ![]()
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