Detlas watches from an alley, only partially concealed as he peers out, watching the woman suddenly stop and paint.
He's intrigued. But largely confused. And a tad wary.
Squatting down, and leaning forward on his makeshift spear, he continues to eye the group.
Some minutes pass by, and he hesitantly approaches from the darkness, spear clutched in both hands
He comes close enough to reveal himself, but far enough way to stay out of fighting range.
The man is tall. Easily past six foot, and has a well-built, solid frame. Obviously that of a strong, powerful soldier. Or at least, someone that was once that.
However, in contrast to this, his face and hands are gaunt and bony, and his clothing hangs off of him in bags, implying he's now thinner than his uniform was originally made for. Likely emaciated.
Much of his body is covered by his clothing, but what's visible is very pale, probably not naturally so. His face and head are covered with matted black hair, grown long, wild, and unkempt, streaked with gray. From behind his hairy mess of a face, peer two haggard, dull blue eyes, surrounded by wrinkles and creases.
A set threadbare Karrnathi battle fatigues sits on his ghastly form, which have obviously been used to their extent. They're marred by stitches and patches of slipshod repair jobs. His boots appear to easily be on their last bits of life, essentially falling apart with each step he moves.
Over his shoulders and torso is a shawl, made of mismatched rodent furs and hides all stitched together, in what is almost certainly one of his sole sources of warmth on the ruined rock.
He's older. It's obvious that he's at least in his 40s, and probably more than that. His body and clothes are unsurprisingly covered with dirt and dust.
Having now revealed himself, he continues watching the woman paint with his hollow eyes, leaning forward on his spear again, like a staff. He also turns his gaze to the others that came along with her, inspecting them with a wary look.
Author
Topic: House of Storms (Read 44147 times)