<div class="floatleft"><strong>Name:</strong> Thomas Deveraux (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=141932.msg6397812#msg6397812)<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Walking into the Blue Iguana<br/><strong>Languages:</strong> English, cockney accent.<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open</div><br class="clear_left"/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/a/a9/Pirate_-_Thomas.jpg)</div><br/>The night wasn't still, people stirred, shadowy figures moving in between and around buildings that were lit up, casting a light that beckoned a weary traveler farther into the towns depths; where one might find his pleasure, or a sharp blade to his throat, depending on the flighty whims of fate.  The night wasn't cold just yet, and only a thin layer of the marines murky fog swirled around the legs of a traveling man.  But the smell of the sea still permeated the air, and Thomas, a man married to the waters salty depths, found peace in it's tangy odor.<br/><br/>He clonked along the cobbled streets, a cloak wrapped snugly around his frame, it's hood up, obscuring his face from any who would be curious enough to look his way.  He didn't care if anyone recognized him, the likely hood of that happening slim indeed, unless one of his brothers happened to be in port, and even than, there was a high chance that they wouldn't recognize him, not after all the years that had passed since they've seen each other.  No, he didn't care if he were recognized, but it was a habit of his from long years of doing it.<br/><br/>He only walked long enough to reach the Blue Iguana, the closest tavern to where the Dirty Secret was docked.  He wasn't a stranger to this establishment, but he didn't return for the familiarity, but rather the convenience.  The faster he got to a tankard of ale, the better.  There was also the added benefit, although Thomas wasn't aware of it, that the Iguana wasn't as heavy handed with watering down the ale, as other places on the small island seemed to be.<br/><br/>The moment he walked into the busy building, he searched out an empty table, and was lucky enough to find one, with empty tankards, and dishes stacked high enough to lean dangerously to the right.  He took it as a sign from Lady Luck herself, that this night would be fruitful for his growing lust of all things frothy and found in a tankard.  He sat heavily in the vacant seat, throwing off his cloak to reveal the tattered clothing that lay tight across his broad shoulders.  He was impatient for the tavern wench to serve him, to quicken his dreams of getting rightfully and thoroughly spit faced drunk.<br/><br/>