Lohan. A thousand odors wafted on the wind. The blending of many races, many walks of life, and many many unwashed peasants.
On the crest of a hill stood a man, tall, hooded and cloaked. His bright blue eyes sparkled in the sun like sapphires. His face was long and thin, with high cheekbones, and locked into a very grim expression indeed.
The sun was hot overhead. As he drew back the hood to his long grey travelling cloak, the wind blew, as his long hair flew behind him, somewhat like a flag. Dark blond hair, though beginning to be streaked with grey. He always joked about the grey streaks, telling people that he had been caught in a fire and had escaped with only a few streaks of ashes in his hair. But this simple joke, and the grim, bitter laugh that accompanied it, held more truth than one might suspect.
His cloak parted entirely, revealing sparkling chainmail over a brown shirt of simple cloth. He wore loosely-fitting black pants, and heavy boots made of leather. Two swords hung at a belt, also of leather, as well as a large quantity of throwing daggers. If one were to look at his cloak, one would find the interior practically sewn together with throwing darts, all in their respective pockets of fabric.
Maglor Saralonde stood, waited, and watched. A wise old man had once told him to "follow his nose." And for a Kimari, that saying was quite literal.
Edited by: Yari Koneko at: 12/26/02 1:40:21 pm