Kyalaran stood in line relaxedly, the symbol of his goddess suspended on a plain leather thong from his neck. Comfortable pants and a doublet protected the young half-blood elf from the elements, while allowing him freedom of motion - and masking his talents aside from being an ordained member of Mystra's clergy. Only those close to him could detect a faint smell of herbs and the tang of other things better left unmentioned about him, signs of an arcanist as well as a priest. "At least we are walking, not standing," he muttered darkly at the comment of some guard. If he had wanted to die in bed, he would have become an apothecary or scholar, after all.