Cirdan took a deep breath and stretched wearily, long arms reaching over the top of his head. He rolled his shoulders fluidly, briefly taking some of the strain from the heavy pack he wore off of his hips. His tall boots were covered in dust, and his wide brimmed hat was washed out from the sun.
Cirdan had decided to resume his travels less than a month ago. He hadn't known what had drawn him away from his meditations in the Orc Jungles, but nor had he ever been one to object to the following of a whim. One never knew where whims might lead you, and for a man who sought adventure there was nothing better than a whim.
This particular whim had led him far north, into the kingdom of Sarok, to a small village that would normally not have even caused him to pause. However, he felt his feet slow naturally, and turned his attention to scrutinize the small town. He stared in its general direction, eyes half-lidded, arms hanging limply by his side, before nodding, turning sharply, and heading into town. Compared to some of the cities in Sarok, it was nothing to boast about. The noise was contained to a reasonable level, which meant that there couldn't be too many people, and the dark walls were not so tall that they could not be scaled, free hand, with relative ease.
Not that there was a need for such shenanigans. The gates were flung wide open, warmly inviting anyone who might wish to stop, rest, perhaps have a few, or a few too many, drinks at the local tavern. Cirdan nodded to the guard posted by one of the gates, tipping his hat back obligingly to allow the man to see his face. He heard the guard let out a surprised gasp, and the sound of his feet shuffling on the tight-packed dirt near the edge of the gate. Cirdan stopped affably, allowing the man to approach. It was not uncommon that he would be stopped by any guard worth his pay; people with a face as scarred as his were normally the ones who caused trouble.
He was courteous to the guard, setting down his pack willingly to allow it to be searched. The guard pawed through the blanket, ropes, fabric, and other items stuffed inside, before turning his attention back to Cirdan. Cirdan, however, was staring rather vacantly at the other side of his pack. He heard the guard stand up, and promptly switched his attention to the proper location. He could feel the weight of the guards eyes across his face, before the man finally seemed to connect the scars, the strange, milky blue caliber to his eyes, and his apparently blank stare. The guard muttered a hasty something that could have almost been an apology, before finishing looking through the pack and offering it back. Cirdan took it with another smile, feeling absolutely no guilt for playing the guard a little bit. It was true that he was mostly blind, but nor did that mean he was as harmless as he was acting. He picked up his pack, swung it over his shoulders, and set off through the gates.
He might spend a couple of days here, recover from the journey north. He was in no hurry, and the town seemed plesant enough. Besides, his desire to travel north seemed to have completely vacated him, and now that it was gone he could feel the aching in the soles of his feet and his back, begging for a night in a bed rather than on the ground, and a day where the only walking he might have to do was to the table for breakfast. He stretched his arms over his head and took another deep breath, before quickly wrinkling his nose. A bath wouldn't hurt either.
He was waylaid on his way to an inn by the smell of freshly baked bread. He paused, biting the corner of his lip, before shrugging and changing course. The baker would not object to a customer, no matter how smelly.
A few minutes later he was walking down the road again, a golden-brown and delightfully fluffy loaf of bread clasped lightly in one hand. He ripped off a mouthful, closing his eyes happily and navigating through the crowded street by sound and sense alone.
The inn he finally stopped at was more than reasonable. A few coins later and he was settled into a room, a steaming tub of water next to the window. He grinned. eagerly dropping his pack and stripping, before sliding into the hot water. Sighing with pleasure, he sunk down until only his nose was poking out.
One delightful hour later, and Cirdan was the cleanest he had been in months, and had left the water delightfully scuzzy. He turned to his pack, rooting through it until he felt a relatively clean set of clothes. He donned them hastily, tied a black sash about his waist, and firmly placed his hat over his head, leaving his pointed ears sticking aslant from the side of his head. He then swung his pack over one shoulder, departed his room, and descended the stairs. He sidestepped a serving girl who walked out backwards from the tavern portion of the inn and quickly made his way over to the door, which he departed through with no small measure of relief. After an extended stretch of solitude it was far too easy to forget how noisy most people got.
With a crooked grin he set off into the city, determined to find and enjoy some of the finer attributes of civilization.
Cirdan wandered through the town quite at random, remarkably pleased with himself. He whistled slightly under his breath, almost certain he was the only one who could hear the sweet notes over the babble of the surrounding traffic. He turned down one street out of curiosity, only immediately to turn off of it again at the first alley to his left.
It was quieter in the alley than almost anywhere he had been in the city so far. The tight walls seemed to block sound, and any echoes were carried up and out. He paused, leaning against a wall and letting out a soft breath. He was somewhat disappointed with himself right now. He had fought for his right to freedom among the orcs, survived countless bandit attacks convinced they could take on a lone wanderer, had meditated for two weeks on top of the tallest mountain he could climb in Iron Rock. And here he was, afraid of a large number of people.
He might have been justified. While it was possible for him to track a single enemy in combat, the overwhelming tides of people crushed his usual sensing abilities, leaving him feeling as though he was floundering. Briefly he regretted not pursuing a method to heal his eyes, before shoving the thought out of his head. He tipped his hat down so that it covered his face, before standing upright and walking out of the alley. This was simply one more challenge he would have to overcome. With a deep breath, he brought all of his seventy years of training to bear, and stepped out among the tide, completely blind in sight, aware of the energies of everyone around him through pure willpower and skill.
He wandered like this until he began to feel comfortable, and then sped up his pace, dodging left and right through the people rushing at him. Then, suddenly, he stopped quite by random, right in the middle of the road. The dwarf, hauling a rather large hand-drawn wagon, who had been following along behind him had to veer suddenly to the side.
"Watch where you are going, idjit!" He bellowed with all of his considerable lung power. Cirdan would have laughed, as the comment could not have been more inappropriate, but the dwarf was already long gone. He laughed anyways, uncaring of the strange looks it would certainly draw. He then turned to the reason for his sudden halt, a small, neat tavern that had drawn his attention. He wandered in, rucksack swinging from one shoulder, before taking the first vacant chair he found.
He knew that there was someone at the table with him, but with his hat pulled down all he knew for sure was that it was a warrior. He, however, appeared to external eyes completely oblivious to the fact that he was not alone in the room.
