Silas Foljet - Catfolk Thaumaturge Application Sheet
AC: 17 | HP: 17/17 | Fortitude: +6 | Reflex: +6 | Will: +4 | Perception: +4
Silas follows along with the group, staying silent but wearing an obvious bemused expression as he soaks in the aura of the various and sundry booths and barkers. He loved it; this was where the magic truly was for Silas, unique among the Foljets. A thing was just, well, a thing until it passed through sapient hands and touched the essence of life. Silas mused that in a bazaar such as this, any number of seemingly innocuous objects could one day become key to strange power. A trinket, a utensil, even the coin used to pay for it.
He felt hungry.
~
Coming upon Seydou, Silas' daydreaming is cut short when he notices the many caged animals. His nose wrinkles in an expression of disgust - the smell was a potent mix, to keep things family-friendly - and perhaps a bit of sympathy. There were those that saw his own kind as the perfect 'exotic companion,' and Silas himself found the whole idea of pets a bit unhygienic. One shouldn't play with one's food.
Largely ignoring the stinky man's prattle, Silas clears his throat and raises his eyebrows forcefully towards Alandri, getting the absolute most out of his new whispering trick that he could.
Cough. All yours, buddy. Cough.
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Mechanics/OOC OOC: Action 1: Action 2: Action 3: Free Action: |