Enter at your own peril...

At the height of a cold winter's day, bleak sun shining through mottled clouds, a figure approaches town. He approaches the gate with a sense of practiced confidence and, despite appearing to be wrapped in a number of warm layers, the half-elf is clearly shivering, as though he wore nothing at all.

The guards nod in acknowledgement to the familiar face passing through the gate. As Leocanto turns a corner into one of the narrow, twisting streets, the burlier of the two guards looks back with a furrowed brow. He could've sworn that the half-elf looked naked from this angle... Perhaps it was a trick of the eye; light reflecting oddly off a puddle. Oh well, back to his duties.

Back at the Ettin, the frozen bard trudges sullenly up to his room, only to return a moment later wearing a number of colourful cloaks. He sits down in front of the glowing hearth and hums solemn tune to himself. His mind flitting back to earlier times when he made his way from city to city with nought but the clothes on his back. Staring into the fire, lost in thought - the only noticeable emotion is a hint of cold determination creasing at the edges of his eyes...