Introductions
Durendal stood within the gates, unsure of what to do. He was not ordinarily known for being a talkative individual. Being the stranger in an embattled camp of a foreign people was not exactly conducive to conversation. With the fiery Kashya, battle-leader of the Rogues standing in front of him, he was definitely not feeling sociable. He waited for her to make the first move, while he stoically endured her burning glare.
After what seemed like a good hundred heartbeats, Kashya finally spoke. "Welcome Outlander, to our glorious hovel. I see that you have come in the hopes of battling the evil that has driven our order from our ancestral monastery. You wouldn't be the first. We'll see how long you last." She said dismissively. Durendal frowned briefly at her condescending tone. The Northerners of Arreat did not take kindly to being so casually insulted, but he prudently kept his thoughts to himself. "You can see Warriv about a dry place to sleep," she continued, pointing to a man in Eastern clothing, standing before a great fire in the centre of the camp. "And I'm sure Akara would like to see you. But remember this Outlander. Akara may be our spiritual leader, but I lead the Rogues in battle." With that, she stalked back to the sentries at the gate.
Durendal watched her briefly, then shook his head. There was one he would rather not anger. Shouldering his meager belongings, he started over to the man whom Kashya had pointed out. But before he had made it halfway, a short, huddled shape darted out in front of him. Instincts kicking in immediately, his axe was in his hand before he realized what stood in front of him was actually a man.
"Whoa, careful there, my friend. I mean no harm." The man said. Durendal opened his mouth to apologize, but the figure continued without noticing. "My name is Gheed, and I can tell you already I'm going to be your best friend in this accursed place. Would you like to take a look at my selection of weaponry and armours? No doubt a fine warrior like you has need of good weapons." Gheed said to a bemused Durendal.
Casting a speculative glance at the wares displayed in a brightly coloured wagon nearby—easily identifiable by the Gheed's name painted in garish colours—Durendal shrugged. "Can you replace my axe haft?" He asked.
Gheed hesitated before answering "Er…no. But I'm sure I could sell you a much better axe!" Gheed moved closer, sensing a sale.
"I'm afraid I would have naught to pay you with. Besides, I have grown very used to my weapon. Who knows how dangerous I could be if I had a weapon unsuited to my style. Innocent people like you could get hurt." Durendal answered laconically. Gheed hmphed in frustration and walked back to his wagon.
Durendal continued over to Warriv, and stopped a few feet to the side of him. Warriv was in deep conversation with a young man, dressed similarly to the caravan leader and presumably another member of the caravan. Warriv finished speaking and the man nodded briefly before moving off toward a cluster of tents and wagons and some unknown task. Noticing the imposing Barbarian warrior, Warriv turned to face Durendal. "Can I help you stranger?" He asked.
Durendal nodded. "Kashya told me you could help me find some shelter from this infernal rain." He replied, finally letting some of the frustration he felt slip into his words.
Warriv chuckled good-naturedly. "I see you're not used to the weather of the Western Realms. Ah, but never fear, you'll grow used to it in time." Durendal nodded, grinning wryly. He already liked this man, who seemed to be the only person in camp with a normal and friendly disposition.
Warriv motioned for Durendal to follow him as he moved over to a wagon with a tarp spread over its contents. As the middle-aged trader began to rummage through the wagon, he kept up his conversation with Durendal. "I'm not surprised to see one your kind here. Many adventurers have traveled through here since the recent troubles began. Not many have returned." Warriv remarked with a troubled look darkening his face. But he brightened as he found something. He pulled out a large canvas tent and tossed it to Durendal, who caught it easily, then turned back and began pulling out a number of tent poles. Turning, he face lit with a sudden realization. "I'm sorry, I just realized I have not introduced myself! My name is Warriv, and I was leading this caravan east before the trouble began."
Durendal nodded, an grin coming to his face. He extended his hand in a friendly shake. "Durendal. Of Harrogath in the Northern Mountains." Warriv shook his hand with a firm grip, smiling.
"Well, seeing as things are the way they are right now and the Rogue Monastery remains shut against any caravans, I will likely be here for quite a while. Do not hesitate to ask me for anything you need." Warriv said. Durendal thanked him gratefully and then moved off to find a place to set up his tent. He found a spot not far from the fire in the center of the camp, and setting down his belongings, began putting up the small tent that would be his new home.
Durendal stood within the gates, unsure of what to do. He was not ordinarily known for being a talkative individual. Being the stranger in an embattled camp of a foreign people was not exactly conducive to conversation. With the fiery Kashya, battle-leader of the Rogues standing in front of him, he was definitely not feeling sociable. He waited for her to make the first move, while he stoically endured her burning glare.
After what seemed like a good hundred heartbeats, Kashya finally spoke. "Welcome Outlander, to our glorious hovel. I see that you have come in the hopes of battling the evil that has driven our order from our ancestral monastery. You wouldn't be the first. We'll see how long you last." She said dismissively. Durendal frowned briefly at her condescending tone. The Northerners of Arreat did not take kindly to being so casually insulted, but he prudently kept his thoughts to himself. "You can see Warriv about a dry place to sleep," she continued, pointing to a man in Eastern clothing, standing before a great fire in the centre of the camp. "And I'm sure Akara would like to see you. But remember this Outlander. Akara may be our spiritual leader, but I lead the Rogues in battle." With that, she stalked back to the sentries at the gate.
Durendal watched her briefly, then shook his head. There was one he would rather not anger. Shouldering his meager belongings, he started over to the man whom Kashya had pointed out. But before he had made it halfway, a short, huddled shape darted out in front of him. Instincts kicking in immediately, his axe was in his hand before he realized what stood in front of him was actually a man.
"Whoa, careful there, my friend. I mean no harm." The man said. Durendal opened his mouth to apologize, but the figure continued without noticing. "My name is Gheed, and I can tell you already I'm going to be your best friend in this accursed place. Would you like to take a look at my selection of weaponry and armours? No doubt a fine warrior like you has need of good weapons." Gheed said to a bemused Durendal.
Casting a speculative glance at the wares displayed in a brightly coloured wagon nearby—easily identifiable by the Gheed's name painted in garish colours—Durendal shrugged. "Can you replace my axe haft?" He asked.
Gheed hesitated before answering "Er…no. But I'm sure I could sell you a much better axe!" Gheed moved closer, sensing a sale.
"I'm afraid I would have naught to pay you with. Besides, I have grown very used to my weapon. Who knows how dangerous I could be if I had a weapon unsuited to my style. Innocent people like you could get hurt." Durendal answered laconically. Gheed hmphed in frustration and walked back to his wagon.
Durendal continued over to Warriv, and stopped a few feet to the side of him. Warriv was in deep conversation with a young man, dressed similarly to the caravan leader and presumably another member of the caravan. Warriv finished speaking and the man nodded briefly before moving off toward a cluster of tents and wagons and some unknown task. Noticing the imposing Barbarian warrior, Warriv turned to face Durendal. "Can I help you stranger?" He asked.
Durendal nodded. "Kashya told me you could help me find some shelter from this infernal rain." He replied, finally letting some of the frustration he felt slip into his words.
Warriv chuckled good-naturedly. "I see you're not used to the weather of the Western Realms. Ah, but never fear, you'll grow used to it in time." Durendal nodded, grinning wryly. He already liked this man, who seemed to be the only person in camp with a normal and friendly disposition.
Warriv motioned for Durendal to follow him as he moved over to a wagon with a tarp spread over its contents. As the middle-aged trader began to rummage through the wagon, he kept up his conversation with Durendal. "I'm not surprised to see one your kind here. Many adventurers have traveled through here since the recent troubles began. Not many have returned." Warriv remarked with a troubled look darkening his face. But he brightened as he found something. He pulled out a large canvas tent and tossed it to Durendal, who caught it easily, then turned back and began pulling out a number of tent poles. Turning, he face lit with a sudden realization. "I'm sorry, I just realized I have not introduced myself! My name is Warriv, and I was leading this caravan east before the trouble began."
Durendal nodded, an grin coming to his face. He extended his hand in a friendly shake. "Durendal. Of Harrogath in the Northern Mountains." Warriv shook his hand with a firm grip, smiling.
"Well, seeing as things are the way they are right now and the Rogue Monastery remains shut against any caravans, I will likely be here for quite a while. Do not hesitate to ask me for anything you need." Warriv said. Durendal thanked him gratefully and then moved off to find a place to set up his tent. He found a spot not far from the fire in the center of the camp, and setting down his belongings, began putting up the small tent that would be his new home.