<div class="floatleft">(http://www.stephandtonyinvestigate.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/prince-of-persia.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Sera Howlette</strong> (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=1077893)</span><br/><strong>AC:</strong>20<br/><strong>HP:</strong>Full<br/><strong>Status:</strong>Normal<br/><hr/><br/>Sera Howlette had spent an evening at his leisure.  He had taken a long stroll through the town, and taken in its architecture.  He also visited the quaint little temples, spoke to its disciples, and gained some wisdom on the merits of organized religion, though none of it was sufficient to acquaint the young master as to the rigors of any saint, oracle, or god.  Do not believe that Sera was a disbeliever.  In the dank darkness of an ancient tomb, there can be no atheists.  But Sera was not particularly faithful to any one being.  His inquisitiveness, however, as to the practices of the scattered faiths was misleading to every being that devoted so much energy answering his questions.<br/><br/>After visiting the many temples in the town, but before settling in at The Master's Arm--an eight-room inn--the young man purchased a goat's skin knapsack, some paper, and some ink.  By candlelight, he penned a few letters, all written in his neat, masculine font.  One of those letters was to a woman by the name of Aralia, the other to a dwarven friend named Malek.  The latter was something of a missive.  Sera explained that he was well, looking for an opportunity at employment in Lahearth.  The former was an apology.  Sera had slighted Aralia, and he humbly begged to be forgiven.  What he had done, or what had happened between them, had been truly scandalous.  In a way, Sera wanted Aralia to know that he was sorry... but more importantly, he wanted her to know that he was very far away.<br/><br/>After working on his letters, Sera devoted some energy to becoming acquainted with his innkeeper.  He spoke to him at length for nearly two hours.  Their conversation ran the gamut.  Sera, who was a foreigner to the city and the nation, only recently arrived that day by way of carriage, and he wanted to know of the customs and the holidays of his temporary home.  Additionally, Sera gained some local insight.  What markets to avoid, what streets were safe, etc.<br/><br/>Then, after bidding the innkeeper--who went by Peter--good night, Sera returned to his shared accommodations, and fell asleep in his chair reading a collection of small pamphlets gathered that day from the temples that he had visited.  His friend and fellow traveler had taken the bed, which was fine.  Sera could fall asleep anywhere and be all right.<br/><br/>He awoke with renewed purpose, gathered his belongings, and prepared himself for the day.  He was dressed in a green cloak, an olive-colored vest and coat, a brown cravat, and a cream-colored thick shirt.  Beneath his vest, his mithril, which was very discreetly hidden beneath the layers of his clothes.<br/><br/>"I wonder if I appear irregular," he said as he inspected his appearance in the looking glass.  He slung his knapsack across his chest and adjusted it so that the leather band was taut and the bag hung neatly over his hip.   "Oh, deuces, no one cares if I appear irregular, do they?  As long as I do not act irregular, everything should come up posies."<br/><br/>And so, Sera set out, and arrived at the Great Hall shortly after Sir Viscariot Sunblade.  In fact, it should be said that Sera arrived in the gentleman's wake, and felt his foreboding apprehension ease away.<br/><br/>"Most irregular," he said to himself.<br/>