<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>General Populace<br/><br/><hr/><br/>At a corner table, the man who had once been presumed heir of Clan Ahran drank quietly, though the shit-sitter small beer was a bit heavy for his taste.  Also sour, though not in a pleasant way.  Still, it was survivable...which was really all he could expect, of late.  His hawk eyes shone dimly in the poor light, and there was, as ever, a restless quality about him...though he did seem unusually subdued in the clang and clamor of the tavern.<br/><br/>Perhaps the reason for this was the slender wrap of paper that hung, smouldering from one end, between the index and middle finger of his left hand.  Occasionally, he brought that rough-formed tube up to his lips, inhaled deeply from it...then allowed smoke to curl out of his nostrils.  The smoke clung about him, though at least its fragrance was not wholly unpleasant...and from the midst of his little personal smoke screen, he could observe the larger of his 'companions,' seated with one of the females from the meager remnant of their 'company.'<br/><br/>A shake of his head firmly dismissed the barbarian and the dancing-girl he had engaged -- the diseases that wracked the womenfolk of this pit were nothing that he wanted near himself, though perhaps the hill-man's formidable constitution would carry him through...or perhaps he already lived with them, and knew not the difference.  No matter.  Not for himself, the fleeting pleasure and prolonged itching.<br/><br/>Ahran set his mug aside, then plucked a coin of silver from his coin-purse...which he kept rather out of the way from greedy fingers, naturally.  A moment spent studying the coin, then he set it dancing between his fingers, a shiny blur that showed, much to his pleasure, that his reflexes had not been dulled in the slightest by the herb he smoked.  A lazy smile grew upon the horse-lord's face, and he let his head fall back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.  Yet, the coin did not still in its rotation...indeed, grew even more flashy as he sent it spinning over his knuckles, only to be snatched from the air and set about its path once more.