Necessity is what had brought Kaladin into the collection of dilapidated buildings his former countrymen now called home. The young man typically made shelter somewhere in the outskirts. He preferred his self imposed exile to the chaos that was establishing order in a new place. Companionship was a luxury he wasn't allowed to partake in anymore, it seemed to cause too much destruction for the other party involved. No, alone and separated from the rest of society was best, for him, and for everyone else.
Still, piss poor wine made from wild grapes he found growing in the forest was something a man could tolerate for only so long. After he had drained his last skin of the vile stuff he had spent a good deal of time in a mental argument with himself about whether or not to actually go into the settlement. For supplies, and for hopefully something more palatable to drink. The door swinging open quietly was the answer as to which part of him won the argument.
Black tricorn hat hid a mess of black hair, not unclean but certainly unkept. His sturdy frame was covered in worn leather and heavy cloak, several dagger hilts visible on his person, while several were not. Attached to his belt was a long stretch of chain with a spiked ball at the end. He had discovered the weapon in Northhaven, before he had been whisked away to this strange new world. Back then it hadn't had a name, Kaladin was a soldier to be sure but he had never been some hero of legend. Still after the ordeal he had gone through in his life and his newfound hatred for an entity that dubbed itself divine he had found the name Godeater to be fitting for the exotic weapon at his waist. He wore only one glove on his left hand, the metal hand of his right didn't exactly need to be kept out of the chill. He also rather enjoyed how the strange magical prosthetic seemed to make others uncomfortable.
Eyes scanned the disheveled room that they called a tavern and the patrons that had looked up at his arrival all quickly looked away. If the steel arm didn't freak people out then the strangeness of looking at two different colored eyes did. One ,the icy blue of his house. The other, brilliant emerald green. As a child often times he had heard servants whisper that the strange deformity was a curse of some sort. His father had quickly silenced those men and women, not out of any type of love for his third son, but because he wouldn't allow foolish superstition sully the Rickshire name.
He wandered over to the long wooden counter that served as a bar top and ordered a bottle of something strong, and hopefully not as vile as his homemade wine and then wondered over to an empty table in the back, eyes only momentarily lingering on the pretty brunette who also chose to drink alone tonight.
Still, piss poor wine made from wild grapes he found growing in the forest was something a man could tolerate for only so long. After he had drained his last skin of the vile stuff he had spent a good deal of time in a mental argument with himself about whether or not to actually go into the settlement. For supplies, and for hopefully something more palatable to drink. The door swinging open quietly was the answer as to which part of him won the argument.
Black tricorn hat hid a mess of black hair, not unclean but certainly unkept. His sturdy frame was covered in worn leather and heavy cloak, several dagger hilts visible on his person, while several were not. Attached to his belt was a long stretch of chain with a spiked ball at the end. He had discovered the weapon in Northhaven, before he had been whisked away to this strange new world. Back then it hadn't had a name, Kaladin was a soldier to be sure but he had never been some hero of legend. Still after the ordeal he had gone through in his life and his newfound hatred for an entity that dubbed itself divine he had found the name Godeater to be fitting for the exotic weapon at his waist. He wore only one glove on his left hand, the metal hand of his right didn't exactly need to be kept out of the chill. He also rather enjoyed how the strange magical prosthetic seemed to make others uncomfortable.
Eyes scanned the disheveled room that they called a tavern and the patrons that had looked up at his arrival all quickly looked away. If the steel arm didn't freak people out then the strangeness of looking at two different colored eyes did. One ,the icy blue of his house. The other, brilliant emerald green. As a child often times he had heard servants whisper that the strange deformity was a curse of some sort. His father had quickly silenced those men and women, not out of any type of love for his third son, but because he wouldn't allow foolish superstition sully the Rickshire name.
He wandered over to the long wooden counter that served as a bar top and ordered a bottle of something strong, and hopefully not as vile as his homemade wine and then wondered over to an empty table in the back, eyes only momentarily lingering on the pretty brunette who also chose to drink alone tonight.
