( It's a silly decision to be out in that storm and Aymeric knows that, but there is something that has pushed him to make such a decision; his dearest weapon and companion. He doesn't know what happened, when he lost it, but he remembers having it with him before running to his room. There is no way he could decide to forget temporarily sword or risk losing it forever. He has too much appreciation for it.
His huge robe isn't with him this time since he left it back in his room, knowing how heavy would be once wet. A long-necked black sweater and his gloves are covering his upper body, but every bone in his body feels cold and sore. How long has he been under the storm looking for his sword? His black bangs are glued to his skin, covering his eyes. As if it wasn't difficult to see with the storm without having his hair bothering him. With one arm he tries to cover his eyes from the watter while he uses the other one to keep his balance.
The elezen starts thinking about giving up for the moment and going back to his room, wait for it to stop, when a voice echoes through the noisy storm. He looks up, or tries to, to where he believes the owner of the voice is. His lips parts to say something, to answer in a calm way the swearing, but he shuts them again as soon as he realizes the silhouette has disappeared. What in the seven hells?
He takes a step, ready to leave, when the voice once again calls his attention. The commander looks around with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows; not upset with the owner of the voice, just finding the drops that run down his face without stopping, and some even daring to get on his eyes. Dropping both his arms he snorts, blowing any drop that dared to enter his mouth. It takes him a few seconds before he runs and skips some steps. )
The Furt must be upset with us, that's quite a storm. ( It's the first thing to leave his lips the moment he stops feeling the rain hitting his body. Leaning down and placing both hands over his kneels he catches his breath from that short but quick run. With a smile he leans back, removing his black bangs from his face the best as possible. ) I didn't expect the storm to become so aggressive, and for that I appreciate your shelter.
b: the storm
His huge robe isn't with him this time since he left it back in his room, knowing how heavy would be once wet. A long-necked black sweater and his gloves are covering his upper body, but every bone in his body feels cold and sore. How long has he been under the storm looking for his sword? His black bangs are glued to his skin, covering his eyes. As if it wasn't difficult to see with the storm without having his hair bothering him. With one arm he tries to cover his eyes from the watter while he uses the other one to keep his balance.
The elezen starts thinking about giving up for the moment and going back to his room, wait for it to stop, when a voice echoes through the noisy storm. He looks up, or tries to, to where he believes the owner of the voice is. His lips parts to say something, to answer in a calm way the swearing, but he shuts them again as soon as he realizes the silhouette has disappeared. What in the seven hells?
He takes a step, ready to leave, when the voice once again calls his attention. The commander looks around with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows; not upset with the owner of the voice, just finding the drops that run down his face without stopping, and some even daring to get on his eyes. Dropping both his arms he snorts, blowing any drop that dared to enter his mouth. It takes him a few seconds before he runs and skips some steps. )
The Furt must be upset with us, that's quite a storm. ( It's the first thing to leave his lips the moment he stops feeling the rain hitting his body. Leaning down and placing both hands over his kneels he catches his breath from that short but quick run. With a smile he leans back, removing his black bangs from his face the best as possible. ) I didn't expect the storm to become so aggressive, and for that I appreciate your shelter.