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"Life's like that, sometimes."
I was talking to myself, again. Not a good sign. Before I came to Sundren, I had never known a bath-house to be open all day. But I was thankful, because at the third bell, no one was there except for a drowsy night-attendent. In I crept, as if I was there to rob the place, but I only wanted a bath. And a shave.
By trade, I'm a barber. Little known fact, considering what I mostly involve myself in. I peeled off the musky, dirty leathers and (with a towel wrapped about my nethers) asked the attendent to launder them. Then I returned to the side of the waters. The mirror near by revealed the myriad of tattoos that cover my chest, back, and arms.
I smiled, remembering some of them, and why I got them. Some were the products of bored sailors during steady seas, some were at docks and ports all over Faerun. The best I had, still, came from fellow convicts in the slam accrued of my two or three bids. Cheapest quality work you'll ever have done.
The hot water washed away some of the aches and pains, and the dirt and grime. I spent more then a fair amount of time luxuriating before I stepped from the bath, toweled myself dry, and prepared for my ritual. I took my razor from it's pouch and tested the blade. Sharp as ever...and ready.
The stubble on my face was gone in only four or five deft strokes. My scalp took considerably longer. I'm always careful when I shave it...mustn't mar the symmetry with knicks and scrapes. The blade seperated the barely noticable blonde hairs. When I was satisfied with my work, and had dunked my face and scalp into a basin of cool water, I returned for my cleaned leathers.
I had to go. There was much on my mind, still.
I was talking to myself, again. Not a good sign. Before I came to Sundren, I had never known a bath-house to be open all day. But I was thankful, because at the third bell, no one was there except for a drowsy night-attendent. In I crept, as if I was there to rob the place, but I only wanted a bath. And a shave.
By trade, I'm a barber. Little known fact, considering what I mostly involve myself in. I peeled off the musky, dirty leathers and (with a towel wrapped about my nethers) asked the attendent to launder them. Then I returned to the side of the waters. The mirror near by revealed the myriad of tattoos that cover my chest, back, and arms.
I smiled, remembering some of them, and why I got them. Some were the products of bored sailors during steady seas, some were at docks and ports all over Faerun. The best I had, still, came from fellow convicts in the slam accrued of my two or three bids. Cheapest quality work you'll ever have done.
The hot water washed away some of the aches and pains, and the dirt and grime. I spent more then a fair amount of time luxuriating before I stepped from the bath, toweled myself dry, and prepared for my ritual. I took my razor from it's pouch and tested the blade. Sharp as ever...and ready.
The stubble on my face was gone in only four or five deft strokes. My scalp took considerably longer. I'm always careful when I shave it...mustn't mar the symmetry with knicks and scrapes. The blade seperated the barely noticable blonde hairs. When I was satisfied with my work, and had dunked my face and scalp into a basin of cool water, I returned for my cleaned leathers.
I had to go. There was much on my mind, still.