<strong><em>Draven wandered into the tavern. His hair was a midnight blue, shoulder-length mess that fell in front of half his face. His body was wrapped in a long duster, his blades on his back.<br/>Gazing about the room for a moment he found himself a table half out of the light, motioning the barkeep for a drink and surveying the room with golden eyes, waiting for an interesting person to walk in and have a conversation with. Or a fight. Whichever came first.</em></strong>