<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/Zd2GjS8.jpg)</div><br/><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Bhalar Ahran (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=173912.msg8216140#msg8216140)<br/><strong>Nationality:</strong>Hyrkanian<br/><strong>Class/Skill Set:</strong>Horse Archer<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Inside the Leaky Wench<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Elokhat<br/><br/><hr/>The Hyrkanian shook his head, spending a sparse moment glaring at the coin, if not the snake-worshipper who had interrupted its arc.  Then he swats it with the palm of his hand, sending it pinging into the sky, where it is caught, put back into perpetual rotation between his fingers.  He liked to keep his fingers nimble.  While it was unlikely that they would ever fail at the primary task -- holding the arrow to the string, steady, to the moment of release -- he had had to diversify his skills.<br/><br/>"You might keep your serpentine analogies to yourself."  The phrase was delivered smoothly, coldly, though there was no lack of venom in the horse-lord's voice, and while the decadent snake-worshipper across from him might be slightly less prey than the others...it was only slight.  Ahran smiled his wolfish smile, inhaled deeply of his herb then dropped his jaw and let all the smoke roll out at once.  "Though, your point is made.  We can afford this night, though.  Let the hill-man enjoy himself.  Let them all enjoy themselves.  They spend their coin, not mine."  The drug has its effect upon his speech -- he tends to short, clipped phrases under its influence.  There seems to be no real effect upon his cognitive capability, though.<br/><br/>Falling to silence, he let his gaze wash over the rest of the tavern.  Drunks, lowlifes...not worth one of his carefully horded arrows to bring them down.  Which reminded him, he was short of feathers for fletching...and that would likely prove a problem.  He spent a few moments in study of Lukas...then a few more studying the Khitani woman who set herself upon his table.  The tension from that one was palpable -- fear and unease everytime she set eyes upon him.  That was a liability, had<em>been</em>a liability.  Ah, his motley crew of 'companions.'  Nevermind that he'd probably trade any two of them for a decent horse.<br/><br/>Eventually, he shook his head once more. "Picts?  No.  I know little of...the majority of peoples here in the west.  Less of their gods.  Even less of their lost gods.  Enough to distrust them.  Anyone who places their faith and hope in magic men..."  He lets the sentence trail off into nothingness, occupies himself with the last of herb, eventually casting the remnant ash into the air, watching it fall to the table -- slow-burning sparks and bits of gray.