( Urianger has made a habit of dressing poorly for the weather. When the Scions were based at the Waking Sands in Ul'dah his clothing of choice was a heavy, layered robe with a cowl that covered the majority of his face; then later, when they set up their camp in the snowy wastes of Garlamald, he would glide around with his teeth chattering and his limbs trembling in the thin, backless attire gifted to him by the Pixies.
Today, in Geralt's corner of the Horizon, Urianger is has landed somewhere between the two: the cold nips at his fingers and his ankles as he moves through the snow-covered landscape towards the keep, ever impressed by the thrust of seemingly impenetrable stone as it rises up the side of the mountain.
As he approaches, he cannot help but wonder what this place is to the other man. His home, perhaps? A base of his own for whatever operations he conducted upon his own Star? The shape of a person's Horizon is deeply telling of who they are as a person, after all, and Urianger can't help but see echoes of the sturty remoteness of the place in the man who is slowly becoming a friend.
He spots his host in the midst of what appears to be an involved training routine atop wooden posts. Instead of interrupting him, Urianger waits patiently for him to finish, and pulls the heavy midlight blue of his long cloak around himself a little closer for warmth as he settles in to watch. )
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( Urianger has made a habit of dressing poorly for the weather. When the Scions were based at the Waking Sands in Ul'dah his clothing of choice was a heavy, layered robe with a cowl that covered the majority of his face; then later, when they set up their camp in the snowy wastes of Garlamald, he would glide around with his teeth chattering and his limbs trembling in the thin, backless attire gifted to him by the Pixies.
Today, in Geralt's corner of the Horizon, Urianger is has landed somewhere between the two: the cold nips at his fingers and his ankles as he moves through the snow-covered landscape towards the keep, ever impressed by the thrust of seemingly impenetrable stone as it rises up the side of the mountain.
As he approaches, he cannot help but wonder what this place is to the other man. His home, perhaps? A base of his own for whatever operations he conducted upon his own Star? The shape of a person's Horizon is deeply telling of who they are as a person, after all, and Urianger can't help but see echoes of the sturty remoteness of the place in the man who is slowly becoming a friend.
He spots his host in the midst of what appears to be an involved training routine atop wooden posts. Instead of interrupting him, Urianger waits patiently for him to finish, and pulls the heavy midlight blue of his long cloak around himself a little closer for warmth as he settles in to watch. )