[center][b] Das the Shameless[/b][/center]

	“No shame at all,” Das said with a toothy smile as he turned to walk back towards his tent, deciding it was about time to get dressed. As he slowly padded along the sand to his rough tent he continued to talk, “Santa, huh? Well I have to admit I don’t know any Santas.” 

	He disappeared into the tent and after some commotion poked his head out, his wild hair covering his face in a tangled mess, “wait, Sana or Santa? Because Sana sounds familiar.”

	His blocked gaze turned to the shorter assorted adventurer who had emerged from the city face, “more of me? Has my cousin been here, spreading his rumors.”

	After a moment of thought his head disappeared back into the tent, and with a burst that sent the tent rumpling to the ground he jolted out, modestly covered with his fur vest, pants and boots. An occasional bone tooth or knuckle from some wild animal or another helped adorn the simple feral attire. A rucksack was slung over his shoulders and a large knife that glinted in the moonlight clung to his rough leather belt. 

	“No,” Das said as he started to stuff the rough canvas tent into his rucksack, “my cousin is more of a cold mountain kinda person. Also oceans away I would presume.”

	He hefted the sack back onto his broad shoulders and shrugged, continuing his now solo conversation, “it was a bad joke, but what are you going to do, there isn’t much to work with in this desert.”