[1st Spring, 513AV] Cirrus walked into his new city with a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face. He liked to think his somewhat carefree appearance made an impression on the people he passed, and he swaggered a little as he strode down what he supposed must be the main street. His lyre swung against his buttocks with his travelsack slapping off his back, and his kukri and chakrams gave him an air of danger that couldn’t be denied. Mentally shaking himself off, he did a reality check. Of course, there’d be plenty of people who know how to fight in this city and he didn’t know how to use these things. He could hunt with a chakram if he had a big target, skin and gut a rabbit, if he had one, with his kukri, but he would never win a fight versus a seasoned sailor or mercenary. Nonetheless, he could play the lyre and so he wouldn’t go hungry. Not if there was an inn to be found anywhere, anyway. Rounding the corner, he stopped and stared. He’d found the best place to be. The sight that had to be seen. Or if there was a place that was bigger than this, he wanted to see it. Before him was a limestone prism held up by massive pillars in a rectangle; a parthenonesque temple rose from the ground on a stepped pedestal and dominated the square it stood in. He whistled appreciatively. Slowly, he sauntered up to the temple (is it a temple? he wondered, idly), appreciating how it rose up before him in monolithic splendour. “The kind of god who would finance a project like this is no doubt somehow involved in the giving out of stupendous wealth, I imagine,” he murmured to himself. Quietly, he sat upon the bottom-most step and tuned his lyre, then began to play a soft, lilting melody he had once heard described as ‘a shallow bay in a soft breeze’. It was a personal favorite - it appeared hard to play while simultaneously being so easy that he could focus on his surroundings, looking pretty or just zone out altogether. This time, he decided to focus on striking the most, well, striking pose, thinking himself rather dashing as he moved himself up a step and arranged himself with his right foot foot on the step below his limestone seat and his left stretched out before him on the street, pulling his hood up as he did to shelter himself from the cold post-winter night and keep the wind from freezing his ears off. On the right knee he rested his lyre. He decided he liked this city. It was open, clean, breezy, and most of all impressive. |