<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://www.nationalacrobat.com/Gallery/i.php?/upload/2015/01/31/20150131130633-f24c1729-sm.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Aramis<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Moonwood<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>All<br/><strong>Initiative:</strong>+3<br/><strong>Free Action:</strong><br/><strong>Swift Action:</strong><br/><strong>Standard Action:</strong><br/><strong>Move Action:</strong><br/><strong>Feats or SA used:</strong><br/><strong>Warning:</strong>None (PG rating).<br/><hr/><br/>Aramis had been up long before dawn, doing his own meditations. It involved a series of choreographed moves with his body and blade moving in sync. The bladesinger centered himself and focused every morning when he could this way. Sword and magic, blended together in a dance. It was as much an art form as it was a form of combat. By the time the others were up and ready, he was itching to go. Aramis was an elf of action, and this delay in the caravan's arrival to him, meant that something was not right, and that it was an omen.<br/><br/>He stood, waiting for the word to move out, ready to go, quietly watching the surroundings. He mirrored Ianath's worry, it was clear as day on his face.<br/>