Bloody cold, he thought, shaking his hat off on the porch of the ramshackle tavern. He sniffed, wrinkling his nose at the fishy smell and the rain pelting his back but composed himself before stepping into the warmth.
He paused, sweeping his hat before him in an elaborate bow, leveling a sardonic look at the clientele. He heard the whispers – “Yokina Yurei!” and gave the crowd a flashing grin, knowing he was a handsome fellow – all modesty aside – and quite striking, white hair and white skin, outlandish barbarian garb of black silk tunic and trousers tucked into leather boots, and let his hand rest on his basket-hilted rapier.
The written plea had led him here and he swept a languid gaze across the denizens again with a mental shrug. A woman in the corner caught his eye, even with her face hidden in a hood, with her unusual boots trimmed in fur – another foreigner, he guessed – and he leaned over to whisper in the Halfling girl’s ear – eliciting a giggle – before finding a comfortable corner to sit and wait.
