tristan
Despite his years spent in the woods and his lack of social graces, Tristan recognized this event for what it was. It was a meeting. Of sorts, anyway. Clearly it was some kind off meet-and-greet. How ironic that he happened to be around during the start of it.
Since literally falling into Miss Georgia’s garden and crushing her poor flowers, Tristan had been eager to learn more about this world he found himself in. The young redheaded woman that had found him and had taken care of him had offered him some information, but he wanted to know more. Were there others like him, who had apparently fallen out of the very sky itself? Was it common in this land? That line of thinking only brought questions. Could he get home again? What about his parents? Was he stuck here? The simple thought of never seeing his parents again caused a sickly feeling to pool in his gut, but he ignored it for the time being.
Letting his gaze wander, Tristan watched as a man spoke up to get the meeting started, nursing his bottle while leaning against the back wall. Ronin Taliesin is what he introduced himself as, and at the introduction, the brunette gave a nod of his head in acquiescence. He’d definitely do his best to commit the name to memory, but Tristan had a feeling that he would be learning a lot of names here shortly.
The Temple he had found himself in was a nice reprieve from the fall weather. He had been wandering, as he was prone to do, feeling far better now that Miss Georgia had tended to his injured side. The injury itself had been stitched and bandaged, and now was covered and out of view by a thin shirt and the thick fabric of his traveling jacket. His eyes roamed once more, searching out that familiar head of fiery red hair, but he couldn’t spot the healer who had helped him. Perhaps she would arrive later, if at all.
Clearing his throat, Tristan straightened up. Might as well get started. So long as he was stuck here he might as well try and provide some usefulness to the community he had quite literally fallen into. “I’m Tristan. Tristan Cadfael.” He paused, letting the depth of his voice carry across the cool room. When he went on, he quirked a little grin, the expression almost wolfish. “I’m an, ah, a ’recent’ addition here. I don’t know how to do much, but I can work a smithy. If there’s a blacksmith looking to hire, I’d appreciate knowing about one… Or if there isn’t, then point me to where I can build one up. I’m not afraid of some hard work.”
They didn’t need to know about his other talents, not yet. Those were things that the brunette would keep close to his chest until he knew for sure about the company he kept.
Since literally falling into Miss Georgia’s garden and crushing her poor flowers, Tristan had been eager to learn more about this world he found himself in. The young redheaded woman that had found him and had taken care of him had offered him some information, but he wanted to know more. Were there others like him, who had apparently fallen out of the very sky itself? Was it common in this land? That line of thinking only brought questions. Could he get home again? What about his parents? Was he stuck here? The simple thought of never seeing his parents again caused a sickly feeling to pool in his gut, but he ignored it for the time being.
Letting his gaze wander, Tristan watched as a man spoke up to get the meeting started, nursing his bottle while leaning against the back wall. Ronin Taliesin is what he introduced himself as, and at the introduction, the brunette gave a nod of his head in acquiescence. He’d definitely do his best to commit the name to memory, but Tristan had a feeling that he would be learning a lot of names here shortly.
The Temple he had found himself in was a nice reprieve from the fall weather. He had been wandering, as he was prone to do, feeling far better now that Miss Georgia had tended to his injured side. The injury itself had been stitched and bandaged, and now was covered and out of view by a thin shirt and the thick fabric of his traveling jacket. His eyes roamed once more, searching out that familiar head of fiery red hair, but he couldn’t spot the healer who had helped him. Perhaps she would arrive later, if at all.
Clearing his throat, Tristan straightened up. Might as well get started. So long as he was stuck here he might as well try and provide some usefulness to the community he had quite literally fallen into. “I’m Tristan. Tristan Cadfael.” He paused, letting the depth of his voice carry across the cool room. When he went on, he quirked a little grin, the expression almost wolfish. “I’m an, ah, a ’recent’ addition here. I don’t know how to do much, but I can work a smithy. If there’s a blacksmith looking to hire, I’d appreciate knowing about one… Or if there isn’t, then point me to where I can build one up. I’m not afraid of some hard work.”
They didn’t need to know about his other talents, not yet. Those were things that the brunette would keep close to his chest until he knew for sure about the company he kept.
