Cities always stank.
It was inevitable when you had that many bodies clustered in so little space. Too much sweating, shitting, ******** and dying all coalesced in a tiny expanse. Sen'Urith's nose crinkled as he wandered the streets with no particular destination in mind. He had been born in a Har, but raised in the frigid wild surrounding his place of birth. He'd never grown used to the stink of so many people and it was most unpleasant when it assailed his nostrils. Not to mention the elf hardly cared for the people whom he now darted through like a pale ghost. They were aimless cockroaches, wandering a maze of their own design grubbing for scraps to make it through the day. There wasn't an ounce of desire, of ambition amongst the lot of them. Did they not know they could simply seize life by the throat and squeeze until it relented? The Druchii priest clicked his tongue at their passive nature and casually shouldered an obstructing man into a stall of fruit. He hardly even paused as the unbalanced man swore obscenities at his backside. There were a pair of gleaming, heavy-bladed swords hanging from his hips that begged to be slated on the fool's backside but he would be a paltry challenge. Not even a morsel to whet the palate, a meager ration that would only serve to exasperate their thirst.
So despite a strong inkling to decapitate the imbecile in a single smooth stroke, Sen'Urith trotted right on. It was a good thing that stealth was not his inclination, because the priest stuck out like a polar bear in a desert. His physique earned him more than a few second glances. While most elves were emaciated stick creatures, Sen was above average height and weight. Bands of muscle wrapped around his bones like cords of steel with as much power buried within them. He towered over most at six feet and six inches, almost as high as his father had been before his untimely death. What was his second most striking feature would be his pristine white robes. They were made of thick wool and as clean as they day they'd been woven. How someone could manage to keep grime off of white cloth in a city was difficult to imagine to be sure. The elf also wore a similarly white cloak with its hood drawn up to hide most of his head and body beneath his broad shoulders. Of course, the gilded pommels of his twin sabers stuck out from beneath the garb and the glowing brass of his molten eyes faintly illuminated his face beneath the hood. There was one more thing that drew stares to the elf.
He wasn't wearing any shoes.
His bare feet carried him down the streets, woe betide the fool who accidentally stepped on his foot. A swift death would certainly follow in that case, no matter how pitiful the transgressor. Regardless, Sen continued on. He walked with a stride that implied great purpose in spite of his general lack thereof. In fact, the only purpose he currently had was finding a place to find a seat and take stock of where he'd go next on his quest. Ah, a tavern. He'd almost missed it with how he'd become so focused on pushing people out of his way. The Black Hound? Yes, that will do. The will have chairs. It will do. There was a sudden change of direction, another bystander shoved, and then the elf was pushing open a large wooden door and staring at a flight of stairs. As the door was pulled tightly closed behind him, Sen'Urith spied a creature who caught his attention. Someone not too dissimilar to himself in clothing. A woman in white. A fellow priest. Probably of another cause, of another less bloodthirsty god, but a priest nonetheless. The elf clicked his tongue and decided to make a new friend. His soles served him a few steps further, until he could pull out a chair and take a seat across from Adelle without a word.
The elf pulled his hood back first, revealing his elongated and pointed ears, pierced many times over with hooks and blades that looked dangerous to touch. Moreover, his pale hair was braided through with more of these sharp instruments. Everything on him, from his skin to his scalp seemed as white as death itself with the exception of those burning brass eyes which now turned to regard Adelle. He looked at her for a long moment, lifting his hands up to rest lazily on the tabletop before finally he spoke. "I know a fellow follower when I see one." He said flatly, narrowing his eyes slightly. If Adelle was canny enough, she'd notice that every tooth within this creature's mouth had been filed to a triangular point. Not only that, but the nails on his hands were razors fashioned from brass. This was a dangerous man who sat across from her. "Who do you serve?" He asked.