"Rhys!" Benson Eilevoa marched down the short hallway. He buttoned his black-striped burgundy undershirt as he moved, a red over-jacket hanging over one of his arms as it awaited its turn. His amber eyes scanned the length of the hall and the room he soon entered into; a kind of open, part-entryway-part-gathering-hall rectangular shape. The room was about thirty large-strides long and fifteen wide, with four bark-stripped tree-trunk beams in each corner. Despite how many times he swept, the floor was still showed signs of dust and wood chip scattered along the unpolished planks and under the scattered chairs and pair of tables. The building itself was newly constructed and unfinished--it hadn't been water proofed yet--with three distinct sections: The main hall he now stood in, and two rooms of similar size connected to the main hall on either side via hallway. The east wing, where the man had just come from, was made of the same wood as the rest of the building. The entire wing was slightly smaller than the hall, but it was divided in half; the entrance leading into a smallish room with a desk, some scatterred papers and a shelf or two. This operated as a makeshift office. Another door within the wing opened into an attached bedroom with a small fireplace. "Rhys!" Benson called out again as he entered the main hall, before catching sight of the man he was after. Rhys was shorter by nearly three inches, with longer white hair that matched the white of the clothes he wore. His pale skin was almost as white as his apparel, and even his eyes were an alabaster color. The man turned at the call of his name but said nothing; he never said anything; just a simple nod was all he offered. "Rhys, I need your honest opinion." He finished buttoning his shirt as he spoke, put on the red jacket, and adjusted the brim of his hat. "What do you think? Got it in Skor the other day for a steal." Rhys glanced over the suit from the polished shoes to the extravagant hat, but offered nothing more than the briefest of smiles. "I know, it's perfect. Now I can look the part!" Rhys nodded in agreement and Benson hastily made his way to the double-door entrance. "Hold down the fort while I'm out!" He called back before stepping into the fresh air. The entrance opened out onto a nice deck space with a couple chairs on either side. Benson eagerly took the six steps off the deck two at a time, but couldn't resist pausing to glance backward at the building. It wasn't much to be honset; it was entirely timber made put together by a handful of lumberjacks from Skor. It was more like a cabin than a clan hall; built up on the side of a hill. The main hall made up the center, and you could see the outer walls of the two hallways on either side that connected to the smaller rooms. It wasn't very attractive, but it was his. The region itself wasn't much either; trees scattered among rolling hills with a split river cutting between them. The clear landscape ought to attract farmers, and later merchants and businesses. He could picture it now; over there on that eastern hill would be the windmill, surrounded by golden grains drifting lazily in the wind. And there near the base of that hill would be a forge with strong men working all day to supply the metal goods the town would need; maybe a craftsman or two housed next door to them. And here in the center would be a much larger, grander clan hall with people bustling in and out, going about their business. They'd travel down this dirt path--it'd be a full road by then--and maybe take their trade down to Skor, or Helderset. Merchants would come, bringing their exotic wares and spinning tales of lands traveled, with bright-eyed children reveling in the adventures. Yes sir, his clan will be the talk of the capitol. "Yeah... that will be the day." --- Half-day's walk to town. Skor was by far the nearest at only 18 or so miles. It was mostly farmland as they supplied most of Helderset's grain crops; which was another dozen or so miles. It was a good town, though. More farmers came to Skor on an annual basis, lmost like clockwork. And with expansion meant a better chance of possible candidates for the clan. For now, though, Benson kept a truce-like alliance with Skor's clan, which was actually based in Helderset. Well, not so much a truce as a "they don't know I exist so have no reason to fret over me" relationship. The people of Skor only know Benson as the out-of-town nicely-dressed man claiming to lead a clan 18 miles out of town. No biters yet. He sighed as he passed by the circle of recovering grass where the traveling merchants had been last time. They had such nice clothes. Without the merchants, Skor was just as quiet as usual. A pair of businesses; a pub-inn thing and a blacksmith who Benson was convinced only knew how to make farming tools. Benson dusted his shoes off onto the dusty floor boards and stepped into the pub-inn. The lady behind the counter, called Lanes, was a short, slightly pudgy woman in her late twenties with blonde hair always kept up in a bun. She ran the pub-inn during the day while her husband managed the farm. Benson took a seat and gave a dismissive wave to Lanes; who dutifully brought a drought. "Any news?" "Nothin, really. The merchants ain't due fer another few weeks." Lanes set the drink on the table with a dutiful smile then returned to her duties behind the counter. Benson took a drink, then leaned back in his chair. He liked to see the people that came through, listen in on their conversations, strike a few himself, try to get some travelers interested in his clan. Not much had come of it yet, but talk traveled, and with Benson being the second most unique aspect of the town (the first being the merchant troupe), he intended to get his name out there. Rumors spread like wildfire, so best if they were about him.