[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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The moment he stepped foot outside, Renault shot a hand over his eyes, nearly overtaken by blindness as the fresh beams of the morning sun hit his gaze. By the gods, how the days spent in dark confinement had ruined his eyesight. But his initial discomfort lasted only seconds before turning to sudden relief. Renault did not fall to his knees or let his fingers run across the leaves as Gorosk did. Rather, there was a visible relaxing in his shoulders, as though a great weight had been lifted. He let out a deep exhale, taking in the first breath of fresh air he had in days. 

Now in plain view, all around could see just how ragged Renault had become during his imprisonment. His countenance, already-untidy when the militia first found him, had fallen further into neglect. His face and hair were tinted brown with dirt-and-grime, highlighting every crag and wrinkle; and it was clear he was in desperate need of a shave and haircut. 

With chests emptied before them, Renault quickly set upon his confiscated possessions, fishing through his pack and traveling gear in search of that glint of silver. Seeing it out of the corner of his eye, Renault wrapped his callused fingers around the pendant, drawing it close to his chest. The cool metal soon turned warm in his grip; warm enough that a superstitious man might have placed significance on it.

With a fresh set of modest clothing in his pack that felt to Renult like the finest silk, he made a mental note to change at the first possible opportunity...and perhaps wash up while he was at it. 

Clasping the pendant around his neck and hiding it beneath the collar of his worn tunic - a habit born out of shame - Renault ensured all his armor and other belongings were properly accounted for before hoisting the pack over one shoulder. He'd armor up once he was changed and had access to proper smallclothes. Still feeling somewhat vulnerable without access to his weapons, Renault assured himself that all would be returned to him in time. Reaching for his flask, Renault groaned, though not surprisingly, that its contents were empty and bone-dry. When imprisoned, Renault had resigned himself to their shared fate of stale black bread and lukewarm water. But now that they were free, with all the possibilities that came with it, the lust for wine returned.

As he caught sight of a mysterious [i]fifth[/i] prisoner, an elf to boot, Renault shifted uncertainly from one leg to another. Elves were a rare sight; rare enough that some may go their entire lives without laying eyes on one, in Andallia especially. The Elf, however, was not standoffish, engaging Gorosk in conversation before being approached by Vah'lux. 

It was only sensible: the five of them were to be together for the foreseeable future, expected to share food, camp, and come to each other's aid when necessary. Trust was a commodity, and one they all had to dispense to each other.