ISKRA
Iskra can't lay much claim to caring about what does or doesn't happen in Stormbreak. Not the least of which is because this place once did not open its doors to folks like him, but also he's become very adept at burying his head in sand, so to speak. Might be colder and whiter, but the snow of Halo and all the work there leaves plenty to fill his days with, and it's a lonely, distant sort of task that keeps him hacking away at woods every hour, not the bustling hub of announcements and activity. Might be why the bars call to him so easily, like perhaps he could drink his fill in a short time and let it sink into his bones while he sleeps.
Although, Iskra's head has been up more of late, and he has heard of the Tower. Seen it, even, since this bar has become one of his favorites (all the more sour it was held back with bigotry for so long of his life). "Oh, that little thing?" he muses with a small smile at the obvious jest. "Thought perhaps you were working on a house or something easy." He sighs long and weary, the inconvenience of what Zavien tells him clearly laid out on his conscience. His fault for asking, he supposes. Could have kept to his beer and his notes.
He does take a thoughtful sip of his beer again, seeming to contemplate a lot in that one draught. "Just so happens I do," he says with a ragged calm, gaze flicking sidelong at the stranger. He holds out a hand as the stein hits the counter. "Name's Iskra. Woodcutter in Halo, with two capable hands and a supply chain of lumber I could organize up here." Could always use a new way to test himself. "What all does rebuilding a heap of rubble into a tall tower entail?" In other words, what's the plan stan?
Although, Iskra's head has been up more of late, and he has heard of the Tower. Seen it, even, since this bar has become one of his favorites (all the more sour it was held back with bigotry for so long of his life). "Oh, that little thing?" he muses with a small smile at the obvious jest. "Thought perhaps you were working on a house or something easy." He sighs long and weary, the inconvenience of what Zavien tells him clearly laid out on his conscience. His fault for asking, he supposes. Could have kept to his beer and his notes.
He does take a thoughtful sip of his beer again, seeming to contemplate a lot in that one draught. "Just so happens I do," he says with a ragged calm, gaze flicking sidelong at the stranger. He holds out a hand as the stein hits the counter. "Name's Iskra. Woodcutter in Halo, with two capable hands and a supply chain of lumber I could organize up here." Could always use a new way to test himself. "What all does rebuilding a heap of rubble into a tall tower entail?" In other words, what's the plan stan?
Never caught a feelin' this hard — harder than the liquor I pour
