Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25038310-20160405011238/@comment-5543592-20160513164437

(Alright, I'll guess I'll introduce my character now since I don't think Alador will be too upset if I go ahead.)

Delevan furrowed his brow beneath his hat as he peered down at the graveyard full of denegerates. That was the only thing to call them, of course, this mismatched clan of men and a much smaller population of women. They were all in various states of disrepair and none looked all that healthy. He'd have to be certain they didn't try to breath on him, when he did go down there.

He had considered if it would be easier to go around, and perhaps try to avoid them. They probably would try to attack him-- they all carried weapons and acted like the knew how to use them. Bandits or rogues most likely, perhaps mercenaries, judging by the plated armor of some.

He doubted they were knights. There were no true knights left.

The graveyard, however, was a step on the path he needed to go. The man he hunted had likely been here, and Delevan would greedily pick up an clues he could.

He prodded at his throat, wondering if his voice still worked. He hadn't used it properly in so long it was likely to be a cracked mess.

He gathered his cloak around him, spat his pipe into his hand, and then proceeded down the hill, lance sheathed at his back. He didn't bother hiding his approach. If they were going to shoot at him, it was better they did it from a distance.