[center][h2]Torsten[/h2][/center]

[hr]

From the edge of the town, a lumbering jingling man covered in thick furs and with several sticks sticking out of his clothing moved into town.  He traveled with one arm outstretched, holding a dimly lit censor lit his way with the smell of incense. His other hand was slowly picking various small branches and sticks from his outer clothing, tossing them aside or snapping them in slight frustration as he made his way through the streets. He disliked it, it was to that point where it was bulging with people, and too many people smelled of filth, of disease. 

He lifted the censor to his face and stared at the light momentarily as the thick smoke just bellowed around his uplifted arm, some of which coated his face until his arm lowered back in front of him, and it swang. He kept moving and pulling plant life from himself until he got to a thin cord of thorns that had wrapped around his arm, and he tossed it away as quickly as he ripped it off, not caring about which way it went or where it landed. 

A deep groaning yawn came from underneath a cloth hood which still had smoke seeping from its open edges as he had spotted someone who looked far too out of place to be in this filthy place; he was much slower than the graceful woman, but he figured that she was headed in the same direction as him. When he turned a corner, he saw her enter a doorway, and thus the search for where he had to go was slowly ending. 

Torsten stared at the bar door and showed a thick hide over his body and a dirty greying hood over his head in the better lighting around it. He raddled with each step, metal raddling against metal; he was covered in a patchwork of armor, chainmail under his thick fur, and plate covering his chest and around his waist and legs. Cloth and fur covered almost all of it, but it was more or less just another layer over it, new things keeping the raddling to a minimum. He opened the door and moved into the building seeing the denizens of the bar and finding that there were several places inside the bar. 

Smoke poured around him as he forwarded his movement following the misplaced individual, and slowly moving a small bar on the censor as it closed its light to the world, he shifted the fur forward some to open up access to a belt that had an old metal helmet, and he hooked the censor just beside it. 

Striding, no, lumbering like a walking rack of silverware through as he likely annoyed several on his way through to the tender of the bar as he slowly pulled a coin out from his cloth and placed it down. It was a darkly colored coin, tarnished a bit, but it had a silvery winged helm over a shield. 

[color=00a651]"I am here,"[/color] the large man said as he slid it across the table. The man across met the woods priest's gaze, and a silent understanding was reached between the two men.

With that, the lumbering man was allowed back, entering the room; he expected the one who had entered before him to move further. But he just looked down at the woman and stood still, looking up at what the hood was aimed at; he looked at the other two, then back down. A finger rose and tapped the woman's shoulder. Blue eyes bore into the back of her hood, the smell of incense and rolling off the man, and a twig falling from his beard.

 [color=00a651]"I do not wish to be rude."[/color] the man said in a deep tone. [color=00a651]"But... standing in doorways is not always..."[/color] There was another short pause in the man's speech, [color=00a651]" the proper, thing to do."[/color]