[center][i][h3] Pascal Marduk [/h3][/i][/center]

Pascal came out of the washroom refreshed. His morning rituals would have been considered unhealthily strenuous for an ordinary man, but his body was accustomed to that type of workout, and a quick bath was all he needed to transform the strain into vigor. Furthermore, the bath was free at such early hours so that he could enjoy the quiet echo of the water in the lonely lavatory, and once he would be done, walking back to his room, before the others would clump at the washroom door. 
His bed was meticulously made, the clothes folded and resting on the chair. He stood in front of the opened window and inhaled vigorously, the humidity of the waterfall lingered in his nostrils. He coughed. He then proceeded to wear his clothes and collect his items, and all while coughing. He may have looked fit on the outside, but he knew age creeps from the inside. 
No matter. He was here, finally, with a purpose, with a way.
He unsheathed his daga carefully and studied the edge. There was a small sideways curvature to it, he knew, yet this was still his most faithful weapon. He encased it as if it were a relic. He shook his vials’ misty content. Upon them, his reflection became apparent. In a guild so young, was he really able to be up to the task?
He threw the earthy cloak on his shoulders and before the fabric settled, he was out of the door. 

The lounge was bustling and clinking, mixing up the occasional clatter with laughs. Pascal snatched a muffin from an empty table, and approached the board. His eyes crossed those of Athena and he hinted a bow.
He studied the board, the head slightly tilted as if it were a painting. He always respected the neatness with which the white haired girl prepared the notices.