[Nell du'Galle]

TS: Towards the end of Ponutis, Winter of Era XIII (pf)

Well, he’d really exceeded himself this time, the tall figure thought as he gazed at the town of Mysty Marshys. This really was the back of beyond, a town that was no more than a village and where the houses stood above the boggy marshes, one presumed to stop them sinking into oblivion. He wrinkled his nose with distaste, noted that it was unlikely his robes would remain free of mud and walked into the village. Only to turn around and walk straight out once more. No, it was intolerable, truly intolerable to receive the suspicious looks that had met his eyes each way they’d turned and tramping along with disdain, he headed for the lake to the North of the town. He’d been charged with a task, and was bound to see it through, but even his master would baulk somewhat at having to speak with those who inhabited this boil on the face of Telath. Or so he’d hoped, for he’d noticed on several occasions that his boss had something of the common touch and sometimes it left him wondering just who had been left in charge of all … this.

Yet as he trudged onwards, he began to reconsider. After all, random citizen had been the instruction, with no discrimination paid to wealth or appearance, and it was a task that Manyc Úlairi had undertaken with typical dispassionate interest at first. For himself, Manyc was an unremarkable figure with black robes partially covered with a further layer of deep brown furs swathed about his shoulders. Tall and lean, he struck most as a somewhat awkward figure, with his dark brown eyes holding fast on whoever crossed his path. His pale face was somewhat tightly pulled by the harsh pony tail that kept black hair under tight control. Slight tips to his ears indicated the half-elven heritage, although these were somewhat pink in the low temperatures, and he kept his hands deep in the folds of his robe as he grumbled inwardly.

Perhaps he’d been hasty. Perhaps his master really wanted to speak to one of these common folk with probably no thought beyond what they were going to eat for pracenda. Unusually for the thin man, he chuckled, trying to imagine the conversation. Random citizen indeed, he thought, and looking ahead, he saw someone who would fit the bill perfectly. From the looks of it a common fisherman and no doubt stinking of the produce caught each brightening by his own hands.

OOC: Note for GMs. NPC of Manyc Úlairi belongs to Milo L’Evienne and is being used here with permission of Milo and the GD for the purposes of a plot. PMs welcomed with queries.