<table width=450 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=0 style="border: 1px solid #ffffff; background-color: #ECECEC;"><tr><td><table cellpadding=5 width=450 style="background-image: url(http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y71/my ... wisest.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-position: top left; border: 1px solid #000000; text-align: justify;"><tr><td valign=top><a href=http://shadowlack.com/persona.php?id=1534><div style="color: #B28D1C; font-size: 20pt; letter-spacing: -2px; font-weight: bold; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; text-align: right;" align=right>Altair Hamid Todujkuma</div></a> <span style="letter-spacing: -1px; color: #000000; font-family: georgia; font-weight: bold; font-size: 12px;">Timestamp.</span><span style="font-size: 12px; color: #000000; font-family: georgia;"> 20° Mia 81382 Not altogether inclined to spend a healthy body on another hour’s dehydrated travel, which would result in less stamina for the following day, the tall tanned form of Altair Hamid walked over the open boundaries of a thatched town. He had spent the last two months with his family in Sahraa', but was now moving back into Swaraj. He was on the outskirts of Pwa Desert now, where farming tribes were more affluent, and settlements were more commonplace. This was but one of them — Lyre, which was not unfamiliar to him — and it lay sprawled over a rocky edge, its lights twinkling under the early evening stars whose brightness vast outshined that of the artificial heaven below. The sign of an inn creaked in a sudden gust of desert wind, and Altair pressed his hand into the door, colourful bracelets dangling from his wrist, and entered the bustling common room. The customers were mainly local, but there was the odd foreigner wrapped around an imported spirit or two. Altair did not look entirely out-of-place here, and even if he had, his charismatic affability was unlikely to be deemed threatening. He sat at the bar and ordered the local produce, running his hand through his wild, golden-brown hair and shaking sand onto the counter.</span> </td></tr></table></td></tr></table>
<p> <dd>Alone walking along the hot sands she could only think about a tall glass of water slowly running down her parched throat. Wanting something to drink more and more it was the only thing keeping her going. Step by step she surveyed around her. There was a small area ahead which seemed to look like a town. What were people doing out here; all the way out here in the heat. Where have I gotten to and how am I going to get out of here. It's such a far voyage back She could only worry about her own wellbeing. Her short tail wagged as she pulled her scarf further over her face. That scarf had saved her so many times and now it was aiding in keeping the sand from her eyes. There was a dry wind which wouldn't quit blowing the sand into the air. She picked up speed as she could get visuals of other pendragons. This made her excited as she ran into town.
<table width="90%" style="background-color: #4F2F4F; " cellpadding=10><tr><td style="background-color: darkcyan;"> <font face=verdana color=gold style="font-size:15pt; font-family: serif; line-height:6pt; font-weight: strong;"> p h e t ' k n i s . m o i</font></td></tr> <tr><td> <font face=verdana color=white style="font-size:8pt;"> Phet'knis had traversed to the desert town in seek of inspiration. The trek had not been without it's difficulties but the woman had made it there within a remarkable amount of time. And so, having decided to play it easy, she made off to the inn as well and had been perched, with nimble legs crossed, atop a stool already when the other two entered. Now, it was evident that the feydragon wasn't from the area -- her pelt hardly suited the climate of the area, colours dark and impermeable, and her attire was a dead give-away. It consisted of a loincloth made of bronze reptilian skin, to which a few bangles and pouches hung from, and a bizarre necklace of various small skulls. Although she was out of place it was evident that it gave her no discomfort; she leaned one arm atop the counter and that arm's palm cupped her head where an expression of bleary amusement played. The other set of digits carelessly cradled a goblet of gold where within some unknown liquid sat awaiting consumption. When Altair took up seat across from her Phet gave him a cursory look-down, pausing her sight on his unkempt hair and the rain of sand which fell from it. <font color=gold>Hmn. Where's my food?</font> </td></tr></table>
