The privilege of living in Brightford was the immediate proximity of its beautiful beaches, ready to be taken advantage of at a moment's notice. The climate's familiarity to Gilmore, the small resemblances to Marquet that he had tried to distance himself from for so long in his life in Tal'Dorei, was the primary reason he had set up shop in Brightford (pun intended).
It was with the intention to take advantage of such a spur of fantasy that brought Gilmore out to Sunset Shore that day. He'd closed the shop down, just for an hour or so, and fixed the inside of the door with Mordenkainen's Faithful Hound from one of his rings in case one of the local ruffians wanted to get handsy with his magic. The sorcerer was shirtless, the upper part of his torso decorated with a series of arcane symbols painted upon his skin with gold paint like some kind of magical henna tattoo. He wore what were, essentially, extremely tiny cutoff shorts made from purple silk and embellished with gold coins and chains. Always gaudy, this one. Sandals dangling in one hand and long, dark hair blowing in the breeze, Gilmore strode out onto the beach.
The feeling of warm sand between his toes was something that the man had come to relish during his time in Preya. It was almost instantaneously relaxing. He moved further down the shoreline, eyes practically shut as he relished in the warmth of the sun on his body. For that reason, Gilmore almost missed the pile of black dumped upon the sand. At first he thought it was a rock, but his half-lidded eyes keenly made out of the glossy texture of raven feathers.
He felt his stomach leap into his chest.
After the instant of recognition, Gilmore's eyes were immediately wide and scanning the shoreline. Considering his profession, the man had a mind for details-- not to mention he'd personally analyzed that suit of armor himself, legendary armor that dated back to the early years of his world. No, there was only one person with something like it. A person he hadn't seen in five years. A person he'd risked his life to help. A person he...
A figure off the shore, splashing about in the water. That dark, shiny hair, those slightly curved ears. Gilmore felt his chest heave with a slightly quickened cadence. He didn't move. He didn't say anything. The sorcerer merely stared, watching a ghost mourned come once more to life before his very eyes.