Aanash
Tiefling Barbarian/Wizard/Warlock
AC: 19 HP: 57/57
PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12
Conditions: Arcane Ward (5/5), Temp HP (7)

The Ride

Riding in the carriage, Aanash is leaned back and relaxing, the four long black spines sprouting out the back of the coat he's wearing like a coat or blanket over his shoulders are resting through a window to avoid impaling the upholstery. His arms are reached out to either side, holding on to the frame of the seat and taking up more space than necessary. He leans backwards out of the window and looks at the passing dreary faces upside-down, steely hair sticking 'up' towards the ground like the bristles of a metal brush.

Between teeth like the blades of a bear trap, he gnaws and rolls a small cylinder of wood back and forth, enjoying the woody taste of sawdust in his mouth. Reaching up to pluck it from his teeth, he leans back into an upright seated position in the vehicle. "Arun but these people make you lot look downright cheerful," he quips at his companions, stretching his arms. "It's a beautiful day. Children should be out playing."

Arrival

There is an audible thud as Aan's deceptively heavy frame lands from his hop down from the carriage.

Setting one hand on his hip, resting upon the comically large belt of black leather and gleaming fake gold, he sets the wood cylinder back in his mouth and lets the other hand settle opposite the first. The strange man, half metal and half tanned leather, scans over the manor with an appraising eye. "Nasse, Sfargles." he greets in a slurring lisp through the gap in his jaw made by the cylinder, whatever word he tried to say borderline incomprehensible.

The tiefling at least has the decorum to wrench his teeth free from the cylinder and slide the slobbery worry-wood into the inner coat pocket of his looted officer's jacket before actually stepping foot in the Prince's meeting. He's not wearing a shirt underneath the jacket, leaving a chest of black metal plates fused to flesh exposed. "Ay-an-ash," he enunciates his name for the gnomish majordomo. "...Do I get a fancier room if I claim to be a foreign diplomat?" he asks, half-jokingly.