<div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/6Re00Ly.jpg)</div><strong>Kerrison Val'seth</strong>(http://ddb.ac/characters/20792264/1nfbo6)<br/><strong>HP</strong>: 10/10<strong>AC</strong>: 14<br/><strong>Active Effects</strong>:<br/><strong>Roll</strong>:<br/><br/>It was hard to believe it had been almost a year since the attack on his monetary. He had held onto that pouch of coins for months and months agonizing on what to do. The surviving elders who returned after the battle didn't seem interested in discovering who had attacked them or why their minds already focusing on putting the dead to rest and rebuilding what was destroyed. A small, rational part of Keri couldn't fault them for that, for simply wanting to move on and begin rebuilding their life the way it was before. But they hadn't been there, they hadn't woken among the bodies of the dead. Part of him hated that he had decided to just...leave like that, without saying goodbye to anyone, not even his mother. But...they knew what he was after, he had never been afraid to speak his mind or stand his ground. Even if all the elders thought it unwise to fallow the trail of the killers that slaughtered his brothers and sisters, it was not something Keri could easily let go.<br/><br/>Even as the weight of sadness and the frustration of his elders' inaction twisted in his guts, he couldn't yet say he regretted his choice to leave the monastery. After spending most of his life not going further out into the world than one of the few nearby villages or farms from the secluded temple of the monks, seeing the wider world was lighting fires of curiosity in him. Granted, after a month at sea he was getting a tiny bit restless. He paced the deck of the large vessel, carefully staying out of the way of the busy sailors, observing them in their tasks as he had for weeks now. He was starting to wonder if he should just offer his hands to work alongside them at this point their routines becoming so ingrained in his memory. Gods know he didn't have the space to practice his forms up on deck without getting in someone's way, nor in the tiny quarters that his modest amount of coin had afforded him.<br/><br/>he leaned against a ship's rail and stared out into the open sea, pondering what his first moves should be when he arrived at the Western Mainland. He didn't have much of a lead to go on after all...His best bet at this point, as far as He could figure. would be the make his origins clear. A surviving monk who had escaped attempted termination. If those interested in the death of his monastery had been willing to fund an attack from overseas, chances where that the knowledge of a survivor on their own shores would reach their ears sooner or later...