<div class="floatright">(http://i82.photobucket.com/albums/j266/der_kluge/cyn.jpg)</div>Name: Jin<br/>Location: The inn<br/>Tagging: Calathes, Galacia, Brogan<br/><br/>Once in a corner of his own in a room he'll probably share with a number of other souls, Jin murmurs a prayer of thanks for his own safety and that of the others and quickly changes into clean clothes. He relishes the feel of soft fabric against his well-worn skin, feeling the musculature of his chest and ribs rustle softly against the cotton that had survived its passage through the sea relatively untouched. Fresh underclothes are also a relief, though the pants that cover them smell faintly of surf and salt. Still, small miracles that he had not lost everything within the swell of the storm. Lastly, once the soft clothing was secure he dressed himself in a breastplate embalzoned with the symbol of his faith, a large fist, upturned towards the heavens with a broken chain wrapped around the wrist across his chest. A quiet feeling of peace fills him as he latches every fastening and secures every hook, feeling once more whole with the holy symbol upon his chest.<br/><br/>Finding himself the first downstairs, he sees two others at a table and orders some bread--he was sure they were all as hungry as he himself felt, and some bread would allow them to enjoy whatever food came afterwards more fully, rather than wolfing it down simply due to hunger. Unable to stop himself, he breaks off a small crust of bread which disappears down his gullet rather quickly before gesturing for the other two to help themselves.<br/><br/>"Greetings," he nods, taking a sip of water to clear his throat. "A strange turn it seems to be alive; past storms have found whole fleets of greater men than we dead ere they ever sighted land," he says before noticing a servant and flagging them down. When they come around, he orders for himself a hard cheese along with eggs and two persimmons if they have any handy. His manner is easy, confident, yet he doesn't smile overmuch and his words at times are tinged with a strange conviction that it would be hard for those not of the faithful to understand fully. The bookseller isn't noticed at all, despite the looks given that go un-received.