Dragon Warriors

"Blasted creepers! ... Oh for the love of..." The figure turns to viciously clobber at something on the ground that seems to have snagged the hem of its garment. It promptly loses its balance and tumbles headlong into the undergrowth.

"Aieeeeee..." A short scream starts and is almost immediately choked off as the breath powering it is knocked out of the lungs from where it originated.

After some more commotion and swearing, you finally see a strange cloth-covered...something...crawl on all fours towards your campfire. A bobbing head pops up into view, as firelight illuminates the face of a middle-aged human male who seemed to have recently fought off an attack by some vicious leaves and undergrowth. He blinks twice, then breaks out into a beaming smile.

"Hullo there! Lovely evening for camping out huh. Mind if I join you?"

“Hold there stranger! Who are you and where do you hail from? Have you been following us? Corvin advances menacingly but tries to keep the large form of Sten between him and the intruder.

Laila woke and saw the figure, " Oh...its just some mad hermit....can you lot see him off?"

She rolled over and went back to sleep.

_________________
co-author Fury of the Deep
co-author Friends or Foes
co-author Dragon Warriors Players Guide
co-author Cold Fury
co-author Cadaver Draconis
co-author Ordo Draconis 1 and 2.

Sten puts his weapons back on the ground. "Come join us, wise one. I do not think the plants will continue to attack you...."

Sten looks ruefully at the empty pot. "Alas there is nothing left of dinner, but a warm spot by the fire may lend you some comfort."

The man looks 1st at Sten, then Corvin, then Laila, and then back at Sten again. Lowering his gaze briefly, he shakes his head and mutters to himself, and then looks up again, this time beaming even more brightly than before. Apparently having convinced himself that you are all of you happy to see him, the man climbs to his feet, pats off leaves and twigs from his robes, and then dusts off his hands. Catching sight of an empty spot beside your campfire, his smile widens in pleasure as he stumbles over and plops himself down with a satisfied sigh, wriggling his butt and taking some time to settle in comfortably.

"Merci good sirs. These forests can get real cold at night."

As you study the stranger, you see a slight, middle-aged man, rather well-dressed with a slight paunch before you. Brown slightly greying hair, worn short and neatly trimmed, crown a pleasant well-proportioned face that seems to be perpetually smiling. A robe of dark blue and brown, obviously once fashionable and of good quality, but now alittle frayed and worn, drapes his thin spare frame. Slung over a shoulder is a shapeless leather pack worn and discolored with use. Clasped in his left hand is a staff with some ornate design carved into its top. Like the man's clothing and the rest of his belongings, the staff which looks like it might once have been a worthy walking aid for a man of some means, is now instead scratched in several places and worn.

"I am Jharak of House Grim. I am a native of these parts, well familiar with this land and its surrounding."

Peeking into your pot and finding it empty, a brief look of disappointment comes over his face, but it is quickly replaced by that pleasant smile once again. He pulls out a handkerchief and begins wiping his face fastidiously. He looks up at you innocently from under his hanky.

"If I may ask, where are you lot headed?"

Corvin looks suspiciously at the scraggly hermit taking liberties at their campfire.

He huffs and sheathes his sword, resuming his watch sitting on a log. He keeps one eye on this Jharak character and one on the surrounding darkness.

“So Jharak what brings you staggering into our camp in the middle of the night? You ask where we are headed. Well might we ask the same of you.

Well what say you? Were you following us? Have you just come from Gully’s? Why should we trust you, blundering into our camp?

Corvin sits back and crosses his arms defiantly after his interrogating tirade.

"Heheheh..." Jharak manages a weak, embarrassed chuckle. "I was actually trying to keep up with my own merry little party. But I tripped. Took a little tumble off a ridge back some ways away and got separated from them. Been wandering for the couple o' hour or so until I saw your fire from afar."

The man's eyes narrow as his expression turns serious. "We are not far from that cursed Fenring Forest where there is talk of strange creatures abroad both fey and horrible. Many are the stories of travelers who venture near it and are never seen again..."

The serious expression melts away quickly, and that disarming, almost buffoonish smile is back. He looks up at Corvin's cross face with an almost ashamed half-smile and a helpless shrug before continuing in a mild tone. "As for your trust, I did not ask for it. I believe such a thing should be earned. And that applies both from you towards me, as well as me towards you."

Still smiling, Jharak looks at the swordsman in a friendly and easy manner as he rubs his hands and warms himself at the fire.

A loud fart issued out from Lailas bedroll.

_________________
co-author Fury of the Deep
co-author Friends or Foes
co-author Dragon Warriors Players Guide
co-author Cold Fury
co-author Cadaver Draconis
co-author Ordo Draconis 1 and 2.

Corvin eyes Jharak dubiously.

“We shall see Master Jharak, we shall see.”

He then turns to Calder to take the next watch.

“Don’t let him slit our throats in the night.” he concludes and then curls up to sleep on the far side of the fire to Jharak.

Pointing at Corvin as the man goes back to bed, Jharak lifts his head and laughs good-naturedly at the man's "joke". He turns to grin and nod a greeting at Sten and Calder, before making bed and snuggling down himself. Eyes closed, the man mutters a word of thanks while smiling at no one in particular, before turning over and drifting into dream land...