Post by Erin Ackers on Feb 7, 2005 21:51:31 GMT -5
Ackers is a wandering young man. Not quite a warrior, not quite a scholar, he simply searches for himself in the world. He is the cast-off son of a semi-wealth family; the prodigy of the children he was to stay home, but he shirked his duties and has since been permenantly exiled. His travels now include a search for a home somewhere. (Yahoo profile Ackers_The_Scholar)
Erin walked into the tavern. He was a typical wanderer, black hair falling to broad, cloaked shoulders; lean, almost regal features somehow darkened and drawn taut, was it by pain, by a past he'd rather forget, it didn't matter, it was now simply another part of his look. He had dark grey eyes that rested under a heavy, brooding brow and a sharp jaw that was the proto-typical leading-man's. He wore light boots and the cloak hid the shape of an athelete's body and a pair of long daggers and a small pack that carried a few books and some baubles and money for his travels. Under the cloak Erin wore a black tunic that was just a might bit tight at shoulders and chest.
Erin sighed, itwas the usual crowd at this place, harlots and ruffians, scalawags and con-men, nothing out of place. He meandered to a seat and called for a glass of whiskey. Upon it's arrival Erin pulled a book from his pack and a charcoal stick and began scribbling within it's pages as he sipped the drink.
Indeed, it'd be another long stop, he had to find work so that he would be able to move on, most of his money having been taken up at his last stop.
Erin walked into the tavern. He was a typical wanderer, black hair falling to broad, cloaked shoulders; lean, almost regal features somehow darkened and drawn taut, was it by pain, by a past he'd rather forget, it didn't matter, it was now simply another part of his look. He had dark grey eyes that rested under a heavy, brooding brow and a sharp jaw that was the proto-typical leading-man's. He wore light boots and the cloak hid the shape of an athelete's body and a pair of long daggers and a small pack that carried a few books and some baubles and money for his travels. Under the cloak Erin wore a black tunic that was just a might bit tight at shoulders and chest.
Erin sighed, itwas the usual crowd at this place, harlots and ruffians, scalawags and con-men, nothing out of place. He meandered to a seat and called for a glass of whiskey. Upon it's arrival Erin pulled a book from his pack and a charcoal stick and began scribbling within it's pages as he sipped the drink.
Indeed, it'd be another long stop, he had to find work so that he would be able to move on, most of his money having been taken up at his last stop.
