Davian Martikov
Bedrolls and blankets are strewn across the rough cavern floor, occupied by an assortment of adults and children. Two men bearing a striking resemblance to Urwin Martikov lean against the western wall—the elder with dark hair tinged slightly with gray, and the younger bearing softer features and a mop of brownish hair. A woman kneels beside a pair of young boys not far away, her angular features framed by locks of chestnut hair. A bald, broad-shouldered man with a darker complexion sits beside her, cradling an infant sleeping peacefully in his arms. A teenager showing a blend of the man and woman's features sits with his knees held to his chest a few feet beyond, a half-whittled stick clutched in his hands. The cloaked figure stands at the head of the group, the cowl of his cloak lowered to reveal the features of a man in his elder years. His gray, suspicious eyes scowl back at you, framed by strands of silver-gray hair that cascade down to his shoulders from the receding hairline along his scalp. His face is bronzed and weathered, and the wrinkles above his eyebrows split his forehead like furrowed troughs. The patched green cloak he wears has clearly seen better days, but appears to have been proudly decorated with clusters of raven's feathers meticulously sewn into the cowl and shoulders, as well as a menagerie of nearly a dozen old pewter medallions and trinkets that have been haphazardly stitched into the fabric. His weight leans against an old wooden cane, its wide surface carved with intricate patterns of grapes and vines, and his thick fingers tap impatiently against its edge.
Children
Related Reports