[center][img]http://pm1.narvii.com/5698/680ac8409e4bf7ecb05819259d7a2e7b59fd69fa_hq.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][h1][color=Crimson]Baldur[/color][/h1][/center]
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Baldur turned his head slightly toward the older gentleman who walked past him, nearly colliding with him as he did so. Though all he could see was his back, something about the way he carried himself made Baldur frown slightly and filled him with disdain. He had the air of a coward, and there was nothing in this world he detested more than the cowardly....But, this was merely an assumption of the back of a man's head, and he had little interest in thinking about it further. He turned his gaze back towards the halfling-elf to listen to whatever chatter he had in store for him, when a gathering caught his eye.

The stage, the loud young man front and center, bleating about family names and followers or some other trivial thing, the procession placing boots to the heads of spirits....what an odd ritual. Was it some sort of celebratory practice in this city? Seemingly not, if the unhappy faces and aggressive bursts of movement were any indication. He watched silently as a young lad and his canine companion fought their way through the procession, up to the stage. An impressive speed for someone so young, he thought to himself. His attention then shifted to the elven girl from before, forcing her way up to the stage as well, and drawing a sword upon the smug-looking runt.

[color=Crimson]"The tension is thick, here..."[/color] Baldur said calmly to Rolle, as he began to approach the crowd at the stage himself, eyeing the elven girl with interest. [color=Crimson]"Blood is about to be shed."[/color]