ISAR
Arm yourself
A droplet landed on Isar's cheek. Tilting his head back, he gazed up at the overcast sky. The rain came intermittently and had a bite to it that reminded him of Halo, if only by the bitter reminder of what it meant to be cold and wet and without anywhere to go.
Standing outside the big stone building someone had called a temple, he kept gazing up and down the streets that branched away from the square, indecisive. Options had been suggested to him by a talkative passenger that took him under their wing along the journey from the Climb. Pick up some goods and become a merchant. Pick up a sword and become a soldier. Pick up a bow, even, and make a living as a huntsman. Or perhaps he was more of a clergyman, a healer, a scholar, a smith - and while he didn't really have the look of a weaver, an artist or a bard, imagination really was the only limit to the paths laid before his feet.
That was a lot to choose between. Isar had not mentioned that his only real skillsets fell more towards the dark and unsavory, the kind that honest men had nightmares about. Out of all the options he supposed that soldiering lay closest to all that... but he'd had a look at the military barracks and quickly turned his back on the rigid lines of uniformed men and woman and the idea of explaining his past to them. He'd done that before - he would not do it again.
A chill wind sent leaves skittering past his feet. Hunching his shoulders against the rain, the dark-eyed man cautiously inched closer to the large bonfire. Magical, he assumed, since it burned from crystals and didn't appear to need feeding. Magic was... rare, in his life. Not something he had thought much about, save for the occasional desire towards power and a reason to leave his old life. He didn't know much about it, as a result, except to be wary of it. The colorful display didn't seem to do anything but burn prettily though, and the warmth it spread over the area was welcome.
He remained there for a long time. Lost in thought as he stared unseeing into the flames, a solitary figure dressed in rags who drew only passing glances from the citizens. Sooner or later he would have to find somewhere to crash for the night. Only, he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.
Standing outside the big stone building someone had called a temple, he kept gazing up and down the streets that branched away from the square, indecisive. Options had been suggested to him by a talkative passenger that took him under their wing along the journey from the Climb. Pick up some goods and become a merchant. Pick up a sword and become a soldier. Pick up a bow, even, and make a living as a huntsman. Or perhaps he was more of a clergyman, a healer, a scholar, a smith - and while he didn't really have the look of a weaver, an artist or a bard, imagination really was the only limit to the paths laid before his feet.
That was a lot to choose between. Isar had not mentioned that his only real skillsets fell more towards the dark and unsavory, the kind that honest men had nightmares about. Out of all the options he supposed that soldiering lay closest to all that... but he'd had a look at the military barracks and quickly turned his back on the rigid lines of uniformed men and woman and the idea of explaining his past to them. He'd done that before - he would not do it again.
A chill wind sent leaves skittering past his feet. Hunching his shoulders against the rain, the dark-eyed man cautiously inched closer to the large bonfire. Magical, he assumed, since it burned from crystals and didn't appear to need feeding. Magic was... rare, in his life. Not something he had thought much about, save for the occasional desire towards power and a reason to leave his old life. He didn't know much about it, as a result, except to be wary of it. The colorful display didn't seem to do anything but burn prettily though, and the warmth it spread over the area was welcome.
He remained there for a long time. Lost in thought as he stared unseeing into the flames, a solitary figure dressed in rags who drew only passing glances from the citizens. Sooner or later he would have to find somewhere to crash for the night. Only, he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.
Because no one else here will save you
