[center][img]http://adn.i.ntere.st/p/10103908/image[/img][/center]
[center][h1][color=Crimson]Baldur[/color][/h1][/center]
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Baldur kept his eyes closed, standing still as stone near the center of the floor, his newly-acquired license tucked neatly away within his cloak.

He waited.

......

He waited a bit more.

......

[color=DarkSlateBlue]"ToWeR..."[/color]

He grimaced slightly as he opened his eyes. Even now, the bothersome whisper at the back of his mind was not silent. Though it had grown much quieter in recent days, much more infrequent. He had taken it as a sign that this fabled Tower of Babel was, indeed, what it sought, yet still the infernal thing egged him on. Was it simply impatient? He could sympathize with that, at the very least, as his patience had long run thin as well: He had intended to arrive in the city and simply begin his ascension, not get entangled and chained in a mass of bureaucratic nonsense. Wealthy cities such as this have always been needlessly complex, as far as he was concerned.

It was only by some strike of good fortune that he was able to acquire access to the tower at all. A simple altercation at a tavern led to an offering of sponsorship from some organization: A Church, of some name. Baldur never considered himself a religious man, but a way into the tower was a way into the tower, and working under people and causes he cared little for was not a rarity for him. It was another mercenary contract into another army of hired blades. Fate willing, it would not go as poorly as the last one.

Baldur nonchalantly palmed the hilt of his sword with one hand, and rested the other upon his midsection, glancing downward. He could feel it still: lacerations upon his insides knitting themselves shut, centimeter by precious centimeter. The work of the noisy flying sea creature nesting in his mind, of this he had no doubt. This would trouble him as he climbed the tower, he was certain. His wounds would open again, should he push himself; Every motion would have to be deliberate, every swing of his sword carefully calculated. A part of him bemoaned the inconvenience, another part relished the challenge...

What every part of him was in similar mind on, squid included, however, was that this chamber was irritatingly noisy with chatter. The voices of a crowd was something he had long since learned to tune out. What was less easy to do so was the young elven girl to his immediate left, admonishing what looked to him like a large fly. He glanced at them, from beneath the brim of his hat, eyeing their conversation silently.
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