<strong>PC</strong>Brogan (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=683441)<br/><strong>Location</strong>On Shore/In the village<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>Any<br/><hr/><br/>Brogan couldn't help but notice the bustle that resulted from the arrival of the survivors. Questions flew back and forth, businessmen expecting the arrival of their own ship, even a relative or two, perhaps waiting a loved-one who never made it. Friends and family, comrades and employers, whatever the relation, the loss of so many lives had not gone unnoticed. Of course, everyone who had boarded those ships knew the stories, or at least Brogan assumed they did. There always was a chance that they'd never make it.<br/><br/>The feeling of industry hung heavy in the air, as if the people of the village sought to expand as quickly as possible prepared and eager to exploit the virgin land beyond. Various workers caught his eye, men and women alike, as much skin bared to the sun as was reasonably proper. For a moment, Brogan wondered if he would be among them in the next few days, if he could find no leads on his father, or some other form of work. He was not laden with coin, and only had enough to survive for a few days, he imagined. This also caused him to wonder about the price of goods in his place - with no other trade hubs, the businessmen here could likely charge whatever they wished for things as simple as a loaf of bread or a linen shirt. He decided to worry about that later. Right now, more practical demands needed to be seen to.<br/><br/>The first order of business - get inside the village, and hopefully out of the pounding sun.<br/><br/>Most of the others who weren't meeting with people waiting for them seemed to have the same idea. Even Galacia was among them, heading straight away towards the village proper. Brogan was only wearing his linen shirt, but even that felt stifling. He could handle heat well enough, but he knew donning his breastplate would speed dehydration, the plate armor feeling heavier than it truly was. But that was a bridge he'd worry about crossing when the time came, and -if- the time came for it.<br/><br/>Brogan notes the tattooed half-orc, the bag he carries, and the newly-arrived warrior wonders at its contents. Was this some sort of unspoken 'tariff' paid by the incoming ships? Was corruption here as bad as it was back on the mainland? It would be silly to assume that this place was lawful and without crime, silly -and- naive. Brogran turned his eyes back to the path ahead of him, ignoring what he had seen.<br/><br/>Soon the group heading to the village confronts the religious women, who try to catch the attention of those passing by, urging them to come to their temple that very night. Brogan was not a religious person, merely paying lip-service to a deity in desperate situations, but the curvacious woman standing before him demanded his attention. He felt the momentary stirring in the pit of his stomach when he glanced at the young woman's fuller figure and blush, and for the briefest of moments Brogan thought to solicit her for company. Unfortunately, Brogan wasn't entirely sure the 'fluttering' in his lower stomach was desire for this woman - or his body attempting to steady itself upon reaching solid earth once more, and he decided not to chance it. He simply nodded at her once, his voice a gentle growl. "If my stomach allows it, perhaps," was all he said, moving slightly to the side to go around her, but not without one last look.<br/><br/>And then, they are amongst the village buildings, and the familiar sounds of the day reach his ears. Voices, dogs, children, and in the background the cry of gulls looking for their next meals. The sound of industry also reaches his ears, as well, and now the place felt more like a thriving city than a single dot of a village countless leagues away from civilization. Merchants aplenty lined the way, as well as a brothel. Brogan hoped he would not require their services, but he mentally marked its location - just in case. Like any man, he had needs, and those needs required fulfillment on occasion.<br/><br/>The sight of the feasthall gave Brogan pause. It must have taken some large amount of effort - and the backs of many men and women - to create such a structure. It was ingenious, and obvious 'thematic', being that the sea played an obvious important part of the lives of these people. He half expected to enter the place to find a pirate running the place with a missing eye, leg, and hand, a colorful native bird perched on his shoulder, just like in the stories his mother used to read him as a young boy.<br/><br/>Brogan noticed, too, that Galacia was bound for the same place, and without a word the warrior slowed his pace letting her and a few others moved past him, allowing them to go first in their attempts to pursue lodgings. Brogan was not sure if the inn portion of the structure was large enough to hold every patron that came here, but he assumed there were other places in the village to stay - for the right price, of course.<br/><br/>Brogan waited his turn in line, hoping to find a private room for himself. Common rooms were all fine and well, but he avoided them when he could.<br/>