<div align="center"><em>"Drunken lizard?....."</em></div><br/>The light leather boots that covered Akil's feet made no sound as he continued his trek through the foreign landscape. Skyrim was beautiful, it was different than a desert, the breeze didn't whip you with sand, and the sun didn't sit on your shoulder slapping you on the back of the neck in torment. The only thing was now to figure which of these strange inhabitants was meant to mentor him through his journeys in Skyrim, the colleague of his grandfather, and a master of the voice to teach him of his own gifts.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em>"Of this I'm sure."<em></em></em></div><br/>Akil whispered to himself, his maroon and tan colored garb swaying in the winds as they picked up here and there, his hood slid down his back, hair clean cut and lined to perfection as if he had done so with a razor. He stood out like a sore thumb in this new land, yet it wouldn't discourage him. The dirt road was joining into a second path decorated heavily with marks of travel. Not a lone spell-sword like himself, but of a large caravan. His grandmother's directions were usually easy to follow, just hard to understand, she spoke in riddles and terms people now didn't speak of. Meeting with the Argonian should only take minutes in his thought, so he continued his trek trough the gates of Helgen, a few odd stares here and there at his strange clothes and 'curved sword' but his demeanor made it seem as if he knew what he was doing, so nobody bothered.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em>"Best place for a drunk....."</em></div><br/>He continued on until he reached the small inn, his legs were tired, and even if he couldn't find his person of interest, he could still be nosey to rumors and open his backpack and enjoy a book or two. The door creaked open and he waltzed to the bar, it seemed as if he was ignoring his surroundings, but he was taking them in. He'd move when the time was right. Until then he had a seat, grabbing a quintet of septims from a pouch on his side, a small book appeared in his left hand, no doubt from his pouch.<em>"Ahhh, the Joo-Ni-Per Mead?"</em>he painfully pronounced never making eye contact with whom sat behind the bar or whom sat at it. Grandma warned him Imperials were nosey and Nords were bossy.<br/><br/>[OOC: Sorry if it's not good enough or too short! I'm a slight bit rusty.]