Sonne is by the campfire, sitting and whetting his sword, cleaning it with fluids from a flask beside him and rubbing cloth. His armour is charred in more places now, one of the horns of his helmet missing and the other bent awkwardly.
In front of him, the other side of the campfire is a man in a tattered robe with ornate gildings and sewings. To his waist, is a leather belt with a scabbard and a curved knife with patterns both on the knife's handle and scabbard, pouches and pouches with scrolls of notes poking out, and a human skull with candles held in place by molten wax. His face is gaunt and long, his mustache trimmed with a small goatee. He is wearing a hood with headwraps.
"—mazes upon mazes of—eldritch scrawlings—ashes—"
"—embers—constructs—guardians?—"
Both men are talking in a low voice.
edited 20th May '16 2:41:12 PM by f1r3lemon
всегда веренThe man in robes, whose hue of the skin is copper, opens a small patch of papers. "—here—Lord—can—trials." , he said in a hushed whisper. Sonne nods, pointing to another spot. "—white orbs—smith—shards?—answers—", moving his finger slowly across the paper.
(There are two freeloaders in the forest)
edited 20th May '16 2:46:09 PM by f1r3lemon
всегда веренBoth men looks up, the man with skulls raising it up and the candles alight by themselves before Sonne puts a hand on it, slowly lowering it. [—"He is with us.—"], the man nodding as Sonne looks at Gerokir. "Oh-Pardon me, Ser Gerokir. We are—discussing something delicate just now, but—Its passed. Ser Gerokir, meet Ser Aziz El-Mualim, a fellow traveler."
"As-salāmu ʿalaykum, Sir Gerokir.", nodding as he folds the paper and puts it away.
всегда верен

...
Not exactly a kid.