[center][h3]--- [i]Eastern Part of Town[/i] ---[/h3]
[h2][i][b][color=6ecff6]Rinn Arniman[/color][/b][/i][/h2]
Interactions: [@xaltwind], [@ERode][/center]
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[color=6ecff6]"A lady of few words... She'll fit right in."[/color] Rinn muttered, bemused as he watched the girl practically spring from one structure to the next. He walked calmly down the street as she crashed her way through yet another splintered door, his eyes tracing sagging gables, darkened doorframes, and crumbling walls. This had once been a thriving settlement, by his estimation, for the sheer number of large workshops spoke of a demanding populace. And yet, not one hint of recent occupation remained and all the buildings were in the same decaying state. There were no noticable signs of conflict or attack or starvation or plague.

It's as if every citizen just decided one day to pack up and leave.

He took up to humming a quiet tune, [i]Love Lost in Landover[/i], about a farmer who leaves his land chasing a wandering maid who ends up being a goddess of wind and fortune. Though not exactly a somber song, it ends with the man realizing he'll never settle again because such a goddess cannot be tied down: her direction is too fickle and bound to change at a moment's notice.

Rinn finally strolled over to what once might have been a large smithy as the pickaxe-girl climbed out of a large, solid-wood barrel. With a small grimace, he casually flicked a large spider off her shoulder before inspecting the sides of the barrel, running one finger around the iron-wrapped rim. He grimaced again at the thick layer of dust before pulling out a well-dirtied handkerchief which he used to grab the barrel and tip it onto its side. The bard was not particularly averse to filth, like so many nobles he had known, but he certainly wasn't as comfortable in it as this strange explorer. [color=6ecff6]"You've got some dirt... well... everywhere."[/color] He said, offering the cloth to her with a faint smirk before using a booted foot to roll the barrel into the street.