[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/7XrtGLg.png[/img][/center]
[hr]
[indent][indent][color=lightgray][color=7ea7d8]"Nobody'll rob you if you don't have anything worth taking."[/color] Chip mused aloud as he beat the snow out of his dirty cloak. A mangy, old thing, cut from polar bear fur and sewn onto patchwork leathers. The only thing on his person worth snatching was the coin purse tucked into his belt, but that rarely saw the light of day-- too buried in furs to ever attract any attention. It was stupid to walk around in a place so wretchedly poor as this all wrapped up in silks and wearing gold on your fingers. Even somebody as big as Dular couldn't protect Entyrea from the truly desperate.

And anybody cursed to live in this frozen hellscape was desperate from the start.

[color=7ea7d8]"Thanks for the help, Mister Temfarrow! We'll see ya soon enough. Off to the tavern, then."[/color] He waved goodbye over his shoulder, trudging along in the direction of the tavern. Dular was more or less leading the way, since she'd traveled these streets before, but Chip was getting a feel for the town already: its streets and alleys were not unlike the game trails and world roads he'd spent so much of his life following. If the pattern of fresh prints on the ground were any indication, most folks tended to go in [i]this[/i] direction...and their feet tended to drag more snow than others going elsewhere. Better a clue than nothing, he supposed.
[/color][/indent][/indent]