<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/ZtMnad7.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Inkut Kella (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=274521.msg13490029#msg13490029)<br/><strong>Stats:</strong><strong>AC</strong>16;<strong>HP</strong>14/14<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Normal<br/><strong>Notes:</strong>None<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>All | Open<br/><hr/><hr/><br/>The market festival was usually an interesting time from what she could gather.  This wasn't the first festival that they'd had since she'd taken up residence in the village, but it was still something of a new experience for her.  There was some extra work available around town, helping move things around to set up the stalls for the various merchants that would be in town.  Defense of the town seemed to be less important for the natives of the village, several others seemed to have brought their own protection, and of course there was still the society of rangers and various militiamen to keep them protected from the wilds.  For this reason Inkut was left with more free time than she usually had.<br/><br/>The barbarian, still armed and armored, wandered amongst the various stalls that the merchants had set up, mutely observing some of the conversations and listening to the shouting and rumble of conversation rising and falling like the waves on the beach.  She spent most of the day observing the various games and festivities, deciding to abstain from participation, though she did still make sure to take a moment to buy some of the more foreign confections to sample some of the various foods.  She retreated to the Taproot earlier than most of the others, though she could have easily guessed that most of the festivities would have led to the inn as the night went on.  She watched the crowd swell in size as the hour went late into the evening.<br/><br/>She drank from her own mug of honeyed mead while the others told their stories, smiling lightly to herself as they each told their own tales one after another.  She considered a few tales of her own, though decided it was best not to talk about certain things, instead she settled on another old story and filtered through the details in her mind.<br/><br/>When it seemed that the turns had finally come around to her she settled a hand on the nearby greatsword's hilt as it rested, leaning up against her.  "I suppose I know a few stories, though ones of myself are probably not suited to the mood," she said calmly and thoughtfully.  "Instead I'll tell a story my father told me years ago when I was just a child," she explained before taking a moment to gather her thoughts.<br/><br/>The story was that of the founding of her tribe, when two smaller tribes banded together in the wake of a battle near the Worldwound.  Demons, adventure, and mighty battles featured prominently, along with imagery of butterflies--indicating her tribe's favoring of Desna.  Most of the events of the story seem far-fetched, if even believable at all.  The story ends with the two tribe's final unification after retrieving a pair of family heirlooms from a dragon's hoard.<br/><br/>She lightly runs her thumb across the pommel of the greatsword as she tells the tale, as if the memory stirs some other emotion in her, but she doesn't seem to let it show through, whatever it might be.  With the conclusion she simply smiles and then goes back to enjoying her drink as any others decide to chime in with their own stories.