[@13org][@Jollan]

It had been ten long days for Anrak to make his journey from Midrill to Kalla, with little rest, food, or drink along the way. Sand kicked up behind each and every one of his slow, deliberate, yet powerful steps.  His boots were heavily worn, and starting to fray at the seams, upon his shoulder was a massive hempen sack, nearly as large as the towering figure that carried it, the clinking of metal ringing out from within. On his back was a longsword, it's blade long since dull, and clearly chipping, and on top of it was a kite shield, heavily dented and in absolute disrepair.  The set of half plate he wore was on the verge of falling apart, and seemed to barely fit his gigantic frame, but nonetheless Anrak trudged forward into the town, making his way to the inn-- he needed a damn meal.

As he opened the door, Anrak's towering body nearly had to crouch in order to accommodate both him, and the massive sack he carried as he squeezed through the doorframe.  As he stood, it seemed like he kept rising, and rising -- as if he were going to continue to do so through the ceiling itself, and even further beyond.  However, just before his head reached the ceiling, it stopped; holding him at a slight hunch.  The combination of his dark skin, and the shape of his helmet hid the features of his face, only the gleam of his red eyes stood out as he scanned the room, spying two rather beautiful women, one of which was a Isoli; causing the man to freeze in fear for a moment, but immediately Anrak relaxed once more, even if the women knew the man he had once been, his current attire made him virtually unrecognizable.  As he wandered over to the nearest open table; sand shaking from the patches of course black hair upon his arms, he mused over what the man he used to be would have done.... Frankly, he'd likely have gone up and immediately introduced himself, buy them some drinks, and try his hand at securing company for the evening. But that wasn't who he was, not any more.

Setting down his massive sack beside his table, Anrak plopped himself down into a chair; it's frame squealing in agony as it suddenly found itself under a 9 foot tall giant weighing nearly half a ton.  With a hard snort, Anrak spoke in his deep, gruff voice, [color=brown]"I'll take a room fer one, two orders of yer most fillin' grub, and a pint of-...."[/color] he paused for a second, as if a wave of temptation had briefly washed over him, [color=brown]"Anythin' but ale."[/color]

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As he waited for his meal, the darker lass-- or more specifically her armor caught his eye, [color=brown]"You there, lass."[/color] he said as he turned to address her, a book wrapped in thin linen, and attached to his waist was now in clear view, to those who would look close enough, the insignia of the red saints was just barely visible through the linen wrapping.  [color=brown]"You seem like ya'd know where the armorsmith in this ere' town set up shop. Would yah mind givin meh directions? I fixin to get mehself a set uh' full plate."[/color]