<div align="center"><strong>Corann Character Post</strong></div><div align="center"><div class="codeheader">Code: <a class="codeoperation" href="javascript:void(0);" onclick="return smfSelectText(this);">[Select]</a></div><pre style="margin: 0; padding: 0;"><code class="bbc_code">Time of day beginning post: Early Morning<br/>Time of day ending post: Around Noon<br/>Location beginning post: South-West of Town, near the Durus Mountains<br/>Location ending post: Just outside Sal's<br/>Characters currently interacting with: None<br/>GM Intervention Request\Required? (Yes/no): No. </code></pre></div><br/>Corann stood with a powerful resoluteness about him, as though the weight of the world would crush his broad shoulders should he falter. Tall, almost seven feet, the Chosen came across as lithe and lanky, despite his overt muscularity. Wearing a shirt of flowing, eye-catching emerald, pants of some off-yellow color, and a garish purple wrist-band, all topped with steel-colored boots, he might have mistaken for a popinjay. Of course, in order to see his clothes or build, a viewer would have to get around the small arsenal he was carrying.<br/>A massive sword, even compared to the cat-eyed man, ran sideways across his back. Two more swords, slender, slightly curved, sat on each hip. Across his chain-and-leather woven armored overshirt (around which only the sleeves of his bright undershirt were visible) were straps holstering half a dozen daggers and short swords were attached via odd-looking devices at each thigh. He had no backpack, but a rune-covered pouch at his hip suggested that the adventurer had a bag of holding or something similar.<br/>Oddly, he didn’t jingle like bundle of coins when he walked, but it was evident by the quality of equipment he wore that he probably had at some point, prior to earning enough resources to afford sound-proofing the cacophony he should have, no doubt, been creating.<br/>In the distance, from the grove of olive trees he walked from, Corann could make out heavy storm clouds whipping at the horizon, over turbulent water flanking the city of Dulon Landing. Nearby, perhaps a mile or two across a straight stretch of land between trees, he could see Blood Elves moving amongst themselves. Too many for him to take alone. Sensuous lips pursing, the Chosen went on, long, even steps carrying him toward the town, his platinum-blond hair flowing freely around his shoulders, the tips catching his angular cheekbones and regularly flashing before his yellow-red colored, slitted irises.<br/>He arrived at the town less than an hour later and the sun was rolling up, closer to mid-day as he strode into the disgustingly human town. The place had no wall, no fortifications around it, and refuse was visible crowding the area north of the town. No Chosen would stand such a thing. Most of the people moving within the city seemed to have a certain purpose to them, as dock-towns often do, and he caught the scent of salty fish as he made his way to the road leading out of the town, presumably back toward Accord. The road was paved, but pock-marked and covered in excrement - probably horse or pig. It made him want to turn his lip up, just a bit. Still, despite it all, the Ember Chosen put on his best smile, one that warmed his too-handsome features to something decidedly sexual and made nice with the locals. A woman wearing something akin to a flower-covered sack reeled at him, staring at weapons, then impossibly bright clothes, before stammering fevered answers to his questions. Yes there was a general store. Yes it sold clothes.<br/>Thanking the woman, Corann made his way toward Sal’s.<br/><br/>GM Note on the Chosen:<br/>Everyone knows that the Chosen, as a race, are both militant and innately supernatural warriors. How they obtain their powers and what laws they obey are a mystery to outsiders. Many among the humans see them as manipulative and evil, while others see them as well-intending threats.<br/>