<hr/><div class="floatright">(http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X8cAki6ELeo/Vkzi0g3C3_I/AAAAAAAABIk/_joJXams6As/s1600/HalfElf-Male.jpg)</div><strong>Name</strong>Jacen Elfsen<br/><strong>Location</strong>Don’t Fall Inn, Upper Deck<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>Open<br/><strong>Content</strong>TV-PG – Mild Alchol Use<br/><strong>Current Stats</strong>AC 18, Passive Perception 14<br/><br/>Jacen sat on the upper deck, a plate of food and a mug of the local brew sitting in front of him, which he picked at unhappily. It’s not that the food was bad but is was different than what he was used to, and as he’d settled into this strange place he realized that he would not be among the familiar comforts of home for quite some time. Not until he had the answers he was looking for anyway. And that realization had put him off of his feed despite how hungry he’d been when he walked in.<br/><br/>Dressed in a simple wool traveling Cossack with his emblem of the one dangling visibly from his neck he was unmistakably part of the clergy which afforded him a certain amount deference and politeness from many but also served to isolate him a bit. Few wanted to chat up a priest with the kind of conversation one usually found in a pup, and so he sat there alone chewing on his food unhappily as the Blackfeet shuffled out to finish their shift. In many ways, it was better. He wore his long hair down to cover up his ears, a habit from when he was ashamed of his elvish heritage. Now he was…well proud wasn’t quite the word but he was at least curious, but he still didn’t like talking about it with complete strangers. Especially those who were of a mind to listen to his father.<br/><br/>He could have avoided it all entirely of course. If he’d gone straight to the church like he was supposed to they would have taken him in and given him a hot meal and a bed to sleep in but something held him back. Was he embracing part of his mother’s philosophy of self-reliance? Was he worried the local priests wouldn’t understand his journey and be unhelpful? Or was he afraid that they would somehow sense he doubts and cast him out as some kind of heretic? Perhaps it was some combination of all three than caused him to ask for a place where he could get a decent meal at a fair price and be led here among the rowdy blackfeet. He wasn’t sure, just as he wasn’t sure if he was going to actually eat his food or push it around with his spoon until it got up and walked away.<br/>