[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=DC143C]Fyror Kildragon[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/c08e11f7-3cfd-47ba-8929-88361f1112d2.gif[/img][/center][center][I][h3][color=DC143C]Good people are like candles; they burn 
themselves up to give others light.
[/color][/h3][/I][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBkaivhLNao][color=DC143C]- [I]Turkish Proverb[/I][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][b][color=DC143C]Location:[/color][/b] The Sea (Preston, England ⇢ Heading North)
[b][color=DC143C]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A 
[/center][hr]
	Fyror followed the man down below deck, his gaze taking everything in as if it could give him some insight as to who these people were and what their intentions were. The interior certainly wasn't grand, but he hadn't really expected it to be such. It served its purpose, surely. The question was what was said purpose for this vessel and this crew? His lips thinned slightly. He normally wasn't this overly cautious, but then again, he didn't normally go on dangerous missions with a woman and for a woman. He wasn't stupid, he knew how overprotective he could get, particularly so in regards to the opposite sex. It was just in his nature, his greatest asset but also his worst affliction. 

	He let out a small sigh as they came to stop in front of one of the many hammocks. He eyed the guy as he rummaged through his stuff before pulling out, sniffing, and then tossing some clothes at him. He reflexively caught the flying articles of clothes as the corners of his lips twitched upwards. The smell test? He was familiar with that one. His brother Leon was proficient at it, at least until their mother caught wind of it and scolded him for it. The smile fell from his features as he thought about his family back in London. He hoped that they were okay. He hadn't left on the best of terms, storming off on some arrant mission to rescue a woman he barely new. 

	He was abruptly pulled out of his moment of reminiscing by his rescuer's next words. He blinked and shook his head lightly in astonishment. He couldn't remember the last time he had been accused of having bad manners. Perhaps in his younger years, but not in quite some time since then. Nevertheless, the man was right, and he was mature enough to admit his mistake. [color=DC143C]"My apologies, sir, for my breach in conduct. I [i]am[/i] very grateful to you, your Captain, and your fellow comrades for rescuing Colle--[i]Miss Fontaine[/i] and I when you did."[/color] he replied earnestly. [color=DC143C]"Thank you for the fresh change of clothes as well."[/color]

	He turned slightly, resting the clothes on a nearby hammock for a moment so he could he remove some of his equipment before changing. He took off his belt, which had his sheathed katana and single shot pistol attached to it, and set it aside. The latter was probably a bit useless now until he could get fresh, namely dry, gunpowder. He pulled out his soaked wallet from his coat pocket and set it by the others with a sigh. He also had a canteen and pocket watch on him. He probably lost the swagger stick at some point. He quickly then changed into the dry clothes, not fazed by changing in front of another man. He was from a garrison after all. Once he was changed, he began to replace all of his belongings. [color=DC143C]"The name's Fyror by the way,"[/color] he commented, glancing over at the man.