The Winds of Drif'Tara
Raivik emerged from his tent, black hair rapped up in a bun on the back of his head, as was a common style among his people, and his long mustache blowing up from either side of his mouth in the breeze. The misting rain landed lightly on the sun-darkened skin of his slightly worn and lined face. He flipped up the hood of his robe to keep the rain off his face and grabbed his walking stick, it was cut 6’ feet long to match his height, though it was hard to tell from the way he slouched when he was standing, and was made of good solid bamboo wood. The fact of the matter was, the wood grade and length made it a much more effective quarterstaff than a walking stick. However, people tended to see what they believed they saw, but then that was the idea. People tended to overlook a walking stick, the same wasn’t always true for a quarterstaff. Raivik made one last adjustment to his robe and cloak (a truly estute observer would still notice what was obviously chain armor beneath his robe, but that was unavoidable without leaving his armor behind) and walking stick in hand he moved out into the road disappeared into the crowd.