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[hr][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][sub][b]Province of Ilagorn [/b]--[b] Adventurer's Guild a.k.a. The Delipitated Duck[/b]
[color=gray]12th Hour of the 2nd Day, Summer[/color][/sub][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][hr][/center]
Some may have been off-put by the severity of the Guildmaster’s tone, but for Ier-Briar Thorn-of-Mountain Volkovin, it was comforting and novel, the clarion call of someone who cared little for pretense or grandeur. This [i]was[/i] the life she had signed up for, after all, more raucous and unstable than even the life of the Ringbearer’s very own. Blue eyes swept through the crowd in an instant, noting the drab, mud-stained garb of the hale and hearty and the confident countenance of the vagrants and the veterans. Adventurers did have some degree of swagger, after all, far from the discipline of the army. A little looser, a little sloppier, a little wilder.

She nodded slightly to herself, forcing that same countenance onto herself, despite her own vocation as simply an ‘initiate adventurer’. Straightened her back, lifted her face up, added a swing to her step, extended her stride. Was her blonde hair absolute golden that day? Of course it was. Were her blue eyes absolute burning that day? Of course they were. Each step was one that propelled her further away from a life of familial mediocrity, consigned to being a pawn for social mobility or a womb to produce a [i]proper[/i] heir to the Volkovin name, and she couldn’t ever stomach that, not for all the meat and drink in the world.

Shouldering past the robed waif that dawdled too long in front of the counter, Ier-Briar locked eyes with the bespectacled woman and stepped up to greet her. [color=7bcdc8]“Ier-Briar of House Volkovin, here to report for sorting.”[/color]