Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5583506-20160209154925/@comment-6006054-20160226002019

It took all of Taervik's iron discipline to keep from smiling at Trymir's story. This man understood the world. He knew the value of gratitude, how little it mattered when it needed to the most. It filled Taervik with relief. The rest of the hunters may have been idealistic fools, but this man had bled to learn the world. They were in good hands.

Taervik was at a loss, as far as selecting his role went. He had spent long enough in the wilds to survive most ordeals, and to find others without being found himself. Those skills could serve him well as a scout. Yet he was not quite content to be a passive watcher. He was skilled with poisons, and had long ago ceased being a stranger to ambush tactics and laying in wait. A trapper would benefit from such experience. But at his core Taervik was a warrior. He had been trained to fight, and had put that training to use constantly since his exile. To no longer expect his weapons to see use, to reduce his armor to little more than a shiny shirt; that just didn't feel right to Taervik.