<div class="floatright">(https://www.infinitelibraries.com/images/Elli/Barikclip.png)  </div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Barik</span>(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=291542.msg14315555#msg14315555)<br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">CN Tiefling Barbarian (Wild Rager)</span><br/><strong>Location</strong>: Hip deep in trouble, little tourist... (parked on a cushion in a corner)<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Open<br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/><br/>The first days in Wati had been spent learning the lay of the land; so to speak. Patience had not come easily; but surviving the bloody sands had taught him well how to wait. How to listen. In the hot streets, the people gave Barik a wide berth, no surprise to him. A small coin or two bought drink, and a little more bought him information; a tale of the treasures waiting to be lifted to light. And a warning about the Pharasmins. Barik knew about Pharasmins; there was almost always at least one around the sands, to insure the dead stayed dead. He knew about Pharasmins. They were the least annoying of the vultures that preyed on his kind, the least aggravating of the scavengers earning coin from his exploits.<br/><br/>A day or two more; reserving what coin he had carefully - not enough to buy his way in, frustratingly, never enough, and he was no thief, capable of lifting heavy purses. Barik gave it some careful thought; he would need a group anyway. He could fight, he could see in the dark and his nose was keen; all things that would benefit treasure-hunters. Perhaps it was luck that led his first foray to a ready ear, or the whispers he had been listening to for three days had led him right, but they led him to the notice of Canica Russala, who could, in fact, use a fighter like him. The invitation followed soon after, which led Barik ... here. Remembering that - while their noses might not be as keen as his, humans tend to have<em>notions</em>about people who look like he does, Barik visits a bath house, in the hopes of becoming.. if not respectable, then at least clean enough to be mistaken for it at a distance. In the dark. At least it will cut down on the musk that tends to hang about his person.<br/><br/>If the gnoll does not fit in, Barik clashes far more, settled into a corner from which he can observe most of the doorways. A cushion is squashed to nothing under his bulk and he sits with a glass dwarfed in one broad paw and a plate of rabbit food mostly ignored at his side. He's not quite hungry enough to trust the food his food eats, although it does smell fine. When a servant offers him little meatballs, those he accepts, with a low grunt. Gnolls, he's seen. This one is.... well, she's interesting. Examine, without leering, he reminds himself, as his gaze slides to Rala. Humans are fragile, in his experience; she doesn't look like much of an exception. A memory of a long ago battle - fragile... but tough, and resourceful; the sands lost an experienced warrior that day, because he did not think a human was a threat - keeps Barik from commenting, past a basso rumble of greeting.