The Resurgent Dream
18-01-2005, 14:10
Diuc Ambrose ap Daireann stepped out into the lightsnow of a Farinor winter. Polisha, unlike the great tree cities of central Farinor, was a port not much different from any other port in the world. It was a city of buildings and roads rather than greenery and nature. Only the town homes of the wealthy, located to the north of town, had extensive lawns and gardens, now dead and covered in snow.
Ambrose was a sidhe, beautiful, dashing, noble. His elegantly pointed ears reached out from his short, black hair. His white leggings clung to his muscular legs where they showed above his rather high black boots and his finely tailored white shirt fit perfectly over his muscled chest. His dark blue martial jacket hung neatly open as he walked from the finely decorated aristocratic home of his aunt and to the boisterous part of town near the docks. Ambrose smiled slightly as he moved towards a certain street, giving a polite if rakish grin to the various sailors, merchants, longshoremen, and other folk of the wharves, both local and foreign.
Ambrose was a sidhe, beautiful, dashing, noble. His elegantly pointed ears reached out from his short, black hair. His white leggings clung to his muscular legs where they showed above his rather high black boots and his finely tailored white shirt fit perfectly over his muscled chest. His dark blue martial jacket hung neatly open as he walked from the finely decorated aristocratic home of his aunt and to the boisterous part of town near the docks. Ambrose smiled slightly as he moved towards a certain street, giving a polite if rakish grin to the various sailors, merchants, longshoremen, and other folk of the wharves, both local and foreign.