Jigano had been practicing alone, letting the calming meditations of his rapier forms center his mind and ground his thoughts, even though the sword he used was short and broad rather than his usual beloved schlagger blade. He had much to worry about these days, with Zariah's seizure of power that grated against everything he was, like sandpaper over his soul. Rebellion was a long-cherished hobby of his, and this would not be his first overthrow of a corrupt government... but there were none who wished to lead it, and he was among those who were uneasy with taking power again now that he had begun a new life away from all that.
On his own he would have simply left, gone elsewhere, flown free of the nonsense. But he wasn't on his own, he had people he cared about who couldn't or wouldn't leave, and they tied him to the fate of the Hollowed Grounds even with the recent turn for the worse. Still, he hadn't been able to bring himself to sign the stupid sheet of paper, even knowing that here he was free to lie, unlike on his world. Instead he had retreated to his animal forms for the most part, hiding his scent, dying his hair - and by extension, feathers and fur - to unmemorable grayish blacks and taking human form only rarely, and never near town.
His sword flicked out, not quite as graceful as it should have been were it his proper blade as he slashed at a falling leaf, missing it the first time, but managing to cut it on the backswing before it landed, seeking a peace that was proving elusive to his tightly-bound heart. Peace that was as elusive outwardly as inward, it would seem, as a scolding squirrel and a shift in the local birdsong from quiet territorial songs to alarm calls caught his attention. He had enough time to sheath his sword and turn towards the source of the woodland disturbance, body tensed to burst into feathers and flight as he faded back into the edges of the clearing, still and watchful.
The person who appeared didn't seem to be one of Zariah's enforcers, however. He didn't recognize her, but she seemed far too uncertain as she grinned to herself and relaxed, and he cleared his throat quietly as he stepped back into the light, arching a curious brow at her.
Those who knew Provost Jigano, bard extraordinaire and general busybody with the startling white hair and honey-brown skin might not recognize the lean man in the nondescript, dusty clothing. His skin was darker, almost walnut-hued, and his hair was messily looped up and tucked beneath a broad-brimmed hat so its length was indeterminate, but the strands that escaped were dark as his eyebrows, an ashen color, neither properly grey nor brown nor black. There were lines on this man's face; he looked older, more worn, and a rough patch of black leather covered his right eye. His left was still a glacial blue, however, and sharply observant.
"Are you lost?" he asked, voice a little rough as if from too much smoke, his tone gruff but not unkind.
On his own he would have simply left, gone elsewhere, flown free of the nonsense. But he wasn't on his own, he had people he cared about who couldn't or wouldn't leave, and they tied him to the fate of the Hollowed Grounds even with the recent turn for the worse. Still, he hadn't been able to bring himself to sign the stupid sheet of paper, even knowing that here he was free to lie, unlike on his world. Instead he had retreated to his animal forms for the most part, hiding his scent, dying his hair - and by extension, feathers and fur - to unmemorable grayish blacks and taking human form only rarely, and never near town.
His sword flicked out, not quite as graceful as it should have been were it his proper blade as he slashed at a falling leaf, missing it the first time, but managing to cut it on the backswing before it landed, seeking a peace that was proving elusive to his tightly-bound heart. Peace that was as elusive outwardly as inward, it would seem, as a scolding squirrel and a shift in the local birdsong from quiet territorial songs to alarm calls caught his attention. He had enough time to sheath his sword and turn towards the source of the woodland disturbance, body tensed to burst into feathers and flight as he faded back into the edges of the clearing, still and watchful.
The person who appeared didn't seem to be one of Zariah's enforcers, however. He didn't recognize her, but she seemed far too uncertain as she grinned to herself and relaxed, and he cleared his throat quietly as he stepped back into the light, arching a curious brow at her.
Those who knew Provost Jigano, bard extraordinaire and general busybody with the startling white hair and honey-brown skin might not recognize the lean man in the nondescript, dusty clothing. His skin was darker, almost walnut-hued, and his hair was messily looped up and tucked beneath a broad-brimmed hat so its length was indeterminate, but the strands that escaped were dark as his eyebrows, an ashen color, neither properly grey nor brown nor black. There were lines on this man's face; he looked older, more worn, and a rough patch of black leather covered his right eye. His left was still a glacial blue, however, and sharply observant.
"Are you lost?" he asked, voice a little rough as if from too much smoke, his tone gruff but not unkind.
