Nov 15, 2007 21:26
This time of year, most residents of Dalmasca usually take refuge from the sub-zero temperatures inside of doors. Nobody ever really gets used to the near-hundred degree up and downswings in heat. It's pretty easy to pick out people who aren't from the area - they're usually the only ones who are brave (or stupid) enough go outside, in the solid five months of bitter cold and dark.
Basch is one of these people.
It's night time. He's one of the few officials still left in the sprawling complex of the castle; his "duties" just so happen to leave him here until Lady Ashe is safely tucked into bed and has guards posted at her door. (If you think this is a coincidence, Larsa has a bridge to sell you.)
Basch has taken a break from paperwork and planning to stand on an upper white marble balcony, leading from the main tactical hall. His hands and helmet are laid on the banister, head tilted to the sky. He could be thinking something deep or nothing at all.
The snow is falling in thick, completely silent blankets, heavy gray clouds obscuring the stars that normally twinkle in rebellious sheets of light. The only sound immediately audible is the heavy satin of his cloak fluttering against the metal of his armor.