Who: Kriv (and possibly his familiar) and OPEN
What: Assorted meetings and misadventures.
Where: The Valhalla Inn, bookstores, the bazaar, the streets, w/e.
When: Varies. :3
Notes: ed is a slowtagger. (_ )_
Warnings: Kriv can be a jerk and Erthesvent isn't much better, but at least she can't talk.
It isn't that he
cannot restrain his poor temper; he would not have survived to adulthood if he couldn't, let alone the various adventures and misadventures that came along after. It is, simply put, that he does not
like to do so, and often
chooses not to do so, and that is something else entirely. It is this grudging self-control that keeps Kriv mostly on the side of behaving himself here, though he sees no reason why he should also smile and be cheerful or polite while he's at it. So when you find him, wherever you find him, there is no mistaking the red-scaled man for a happy citizen. He glares, he grumbles, he growls. He speaks sharply, though not crudely, and walks like one who has never really relaxed a day in his life and knows
exactly where he is going thank you. He roars, once, at a would-be pickpocket who quickly reconsiders that particular course of action. Kriv does not slay the offender on the spot, and somewhere out there his companions had damn well better appreciate that one.
He doesn't have money to spare, currently, but that does not allow him to resist the siren song of bookstores when he passes those of the 'dusty and full to overflowing with history and dull old literature' persuasion. The usefulness of knowledge aside, one never knows when a lucky moment might reveal some text of a more
arcane sort, unidentified and forgotten. Likewise the library at the inn, though those books are in his opinion far too easily available to be promising. Other errands are more immediately practical: he buys what few supplies he most needs and can currently afford, and makes extensive mental notes on those items he'll have to come back for later.
Erthesvent is with him always, of course, though at times she waits unseen within him, a little scrap of spirit and thought. Other times she perches upon his shoulder, rustles her wings and glares, or else takes to the air to bring him news of what she sees below. It is her keen eyes that spot that unfortunate pickpocket, and her wordless animal cry that her master understands perfectly.
They work well together and they will sort this mess out together. One way or another.