Akkarin sat at the bar. His muscular, yet small and seemingly scrawny ((Not to say he is in any way, his clothes mereley conceal his strength. )) frame not standing out much from the patrons of the tavern. He was wearing a long sleeved tunic, colored in a dark, blackish brown. He brushed a strand of obsidian black hair from his stubbled face. And peered curiously as a man began to harrass a woman who had entered the inn. He stared at the man incredilously, a hand falling to his dagger, which was attached to his belt, which held up black deer-leggings.
"Excuse me, sir." He said, in a polite manner that betrayed his intimidating posture. His eyes like daggers. "But i'm sure this lady has no wish to be troubled, she has obviously come a long way, and it would be uncurtious to trouble her."
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