[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.cdn.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjE1OC4zMjYyMzcuU0dGbWNtSnFiM0p1LjEAAAAA/uncial-animals.book.png[/img][/center]
[center][i]Towering Giant, Repose Until Nightfall... [/i][/center]
[hr][hr]

Even among the men and women of the guild, the tavern felt lonesome. The sounds of distant chatter fulled the emptiness, like how the wind blows through the cracks on a hollow valley, noise as such worked merely to rid itself of total silence. The giant had reluctantly allowed the Serim to slip through his fingers, although with only a warning at his behest. Nothing to show for it, but mead in his hand and a few bruises from treadling through a desert wasteland. He took a final glance at the hand which had been damaged, he felt all joints were working properly, the bones did not ache at the grip his hand formed whilst holding an imaginary axe in his grip. Yes, this would do... Though this silent mountain of a man, bringing once again the savoring taste of liquor to his lips. Naught to do but to wait, this is what this thought burning at him, but much to think about. Much to ponder and reach. Hafrbjǫrn had fallen back to his silence after last nights exchange, much had happened and all remained fresh in thought. To band together with strangers was one aspect, something temporary bound by contract, if any died at the miles of travel then the giant could rest surely that all he would feel would be an emptiness at his pockets. Yet this rule changed extensively when in groups, guilds were a mass of men and woman banding together under a similar banner to venture to unknowns. This thought did not please the giant, it only rose warnings of future struggles. if on the ruins he would've spoken abruptly and with earnest, then perhaps they would've saved themselves the need to fight against unnecessary of great potency, to be honest, they survived by the inch of their hairs. 

Stroking his beard which stretched far enough that it would hide neck, the giant began to entertain the thought of joining the Irregulars. The thought was truly just one halved with skepticism. The Witch Doctor truly was the only one whom had any decency as to approach him, all shared equaled amount of animosity and fear towards his size. It not something he is proud of, it is merely how he was born. It was clear in their baited breath and distinctive seam of the eyes. They were intimidated to some degree, and not due mere size, but to the perceived notion that he was violent. And to be fair, he supposed it was fair to think that way. But nevertheless, it was not in his intentions to interact with something of passing nature. What could be an ally today, could certainly be a target tomorrow. Such was the certainty of being a sword-for-hire. It paid well enough, but faces were but paintings drawn upon stone, they would wither and cleans itself with passing. It was not eternal if another hand decided to meddle with it. And people of the sword were of similar nature, of similar hues. Their colors oh so different, but they were still colors. And predictable, when the nature of survival, jealousy, anger and or sadness is involved. People lose their sense of self, replace it with a sense of power, and reason is tossed out the window. Passion is indeed, a powerful weapon.  Hafrbjǫrn knew this almost spiritually, after the loss of his son, he could almost sense the moment when he shifts between a smith and a warrior. 

And so now, presented with a choice, Hafrbjǫrn only has a thought and some time. He began to gather the names he could remember and the impressions he had gathered. Firstly, there were more females than males on this guild, this speak highly of the Guild Master, but not in the means which he would gratify, in fact he questioned it rather dismissively at first. Why? the giant, thought but the answer always lead to the same conclusion. And so he decided to end it, before his would gather a sense of understanding that was merely an extension of disgust and extended embarrassment. He began to ponder, more and more, until his mind rose into a blank spot and as if his eyes were finding the answers in the Tavern, his eyes trailed towards the new blood. Three females, all of which held particular uniqueness to each. To be frank, their youth was something the giant noted immediately. Their bodies, although honed upon the veils of training and combat like finely tempered steel under a seething flame, youth's faculties of the mien remained strong and steady. Their eyes and flesh void from the wrinkles of age, softness of lip and flush of cheek with delivered the sympathy of youth's embrace. The softness of the brow which marked innocence to a degree of but a glistening shred of limited experience. There was another in the guild who shared the same, the Song Rogue, daughter of the head. She bared resemblance to stories of all, another victor of the spoils. Perhaps he could confront her, for the mere sense of conversation. As someone who was born on this atmosphere...  Hafrbjǫrn was curious on her perspective on the world.

Next, the silver haired knight. Her eyes were a brilliant as her locks. Dancing around with soft motion at the behest of the air. Her name was Alleria, if the giant hear right. Her stature was large, woman of the size were hard to see in most cases. She stood above the rest of the girls by mere extension of stature. Her eyes did not speak of much, as though honed in an art of battle even this humble giant was foreign to. Perhaps instinct dictate that she would be no mere liability in the front line, if he joins as well, then this would surely be one of the people who would stand beside him in the front. 

The other was blonde of gray iris's. Strange in a way, but it resembled a uniqueness in her self. Selova was her name, and she radiated a meek kindness in her stare. Hafrbjǫrn could not pinpoint the reasoning behind it, but there in her neutral state he could tell something about her was benevolent. Or perhaps this is merely an extension of witnessing the manner of which she uses her hair. It was different, it adorned her cheeks and flush in the lighting of the tavern's candles which gave her an aura of soothing calmness. Nevertheless, he moved the final and most interesting of the bunch.

This one was called Ehri. Although all held a particularity to them, he found this one to be of course one of the most peculiar, because she held with her two beast whom if found in the wild, the giant would've cleaved them in half already. A wolf and hawk that did not give themselves to their primal urges, instead, they toyed with the other as if they were siblings to a motherly figure. Of course, this huntress was master and commander, someone potent enough to win their respect and admiration. the Alpha in their odd creed. Indeed, she swelled of potency, but similarly of youth. And youth was dangerous, youth entailed many things, and not much good when inexperience is involved. Nevertheless, the giant finished his mead. And merely continued to be joined by lonesome and silence. He will not do what must be done, not until he has decided on whether to join or not.