Sinric the Wanderer

[from here]

Sinric leans a little on Emcee as he leads the way. The bath-house is more of an indoor resort spa than the sort of Roman bath-house Sinric is use to, but it has several pools including the hot and cold plunge pools he's use to.

"There are rooms to change just over there." He points, putting his bundle down.

Sinric's room is much as it was last time Emcee visited, although the bar has kindly upgraded the size of his bed to a queen to fit this rather larger body.

The only thing out of place is a rather ornate Sino court costume, stuffed unceremoniously into a chest in the corner, the fine silk crushed.

Sinric ignores it, rather pointedly and offers Emcee his hand. "Would you like a drink? I've grown rather fond of the mead the Northmen favour."

He feels strangely nervous and unsure.

From here

Sinric's room is small, simple. A slightly narrow bed spread with furs, a long free-standing wardrobe and a padded window seat that overlooks the gardens. But what dominates the room is a large baroque harpsichord.

Sinric ducks his head, tucking some stray books away, hair hiding his face shyly. "I'm sorry, I know it's not much."