[001] First Lessons [action/accidental video]
[The man that has appeared at the dock definitely qualifies as an odd sight. He is dressed head-to-toe in leather dyed in that kind of green that would blend right in with a Spring forest, and from the way he moves-and even the way he stands still-it's fairly obvious that he could simply vanish amongst the trees-
-if not for the rest of him. His hair is long enough that it's a wonder it doesn't get in the way and falls several inches past his knees, woven rather intricately with beads and feathers and bleached a near-pure white. There is no sign that it has ever been another color. He doesn't appear old, though-quite the opposite, in fact-but there is something about him, the way he carries himself, that speaks of both power and age-won wisdom.
Only slightly less shocking than his hair are his eyes-deep, rich, glittering blue, and moving rapidly to take in as much of his abruptly new surroundings as possible. Cautiously, he takes a few steos toward the strange city, a strange kind of grace evident in his still boy-lithe body as he moves, though he seems to think better of the action and stops, with an oath muttered under his breath.]
Ai'she'va...
[What he does next, though, is truly strange. With a motion almost too quick to see, he drops to one knee, one hand on the ground in front of him, eyes closed, face turned upwards. He stays that was for quite some time, silent and unmoving, until he enexpectedly wrenches himself to his feet, eyes and expressino difficult to read. He speaks something in a language like liquid, though it is clearly intended for only himself, and the bideo ends with him looking just the same as before-inscrutable.
He hadn't been called the Sword of Ice for nothing.]
-if not for the rest of him. His hair is long enough that it's a wonder it doesn't get in the way and falls several inches past his knees, woven rather intricately with beads and feathers and bleached a near-pure white. There is no sign that it has ever been another color. He doesn't appear old, though-quite the opposite, in fact-but there is something about him, the way he carries himself, that speaks of both power and age-won wisdom.
Only slightly less shocking than his hair are his eyes-deep, rich, glittering blue, and moving rapidly to take in as much of his abruptly new surroundings as possible. Cautiously, he takes a few steos toward the strange city, a strange kind of grace evident in his still boy-lithe body as he moves, though he seems to think better of the action and stops, with an oath muttered under his breath.]
Ai'she'va...
[What he does next, though, is truly strange. With a motion almost too quick to see, he drops to one knee, one hand on the ground in front of him, eyes closed, face turned upwards. He stays that was for quite some time, silent and unmoving, until he enexpectedly wrenches himself to his feet, eyes and expressino difficult to read. He speaks something in a language like liquid, though it is clearly intended for only himself, and the bideo ends with him looking just the same as before-inscrutable.
He hadn't been called the Sword of Ice for nothing.]