Rain poured down in the town of Bree, drenching the buildings and inhabitants of the city. The man walked through the streets quietly, trying to keep to himself as he kept himself covered as best he could with the ripped and tattered cloak that hung around his body. By his looks, this man was a hunter by trade. Obviously of beast, yet there was something more, something hidden. The traps along his pack seemed to large for normal beasts of the region, as did his bolts.
They were obviously hand crafted, each piece was carefully designed for a sole purpose. The shaft was solid, yet light and durable. The feathering was firm and held to the wind through flight, keeping the bolt on course as it soared through the air to meet its mark. The head of the bolt was a broad piece of tempered steel, barbed along the edges of its blades to the tips. Which had been bent outwards, to keep them from being able to be pulled out as easily.
It was clear, he did not have much from what he wore. Most of what he had seemed to have been spent on the equipment he carried that seemed to be in nearly perfect condition. Most people ignored the young hunter, except one man, whom took notice.
"Tell me friend, what brings a man like yourself to this wayward town?"
The voice asked from behind him as he walked along the rain, pausing and looking back to find the person who asked the question. Finding a man dressed in dark colored clothing, a pack around his back that held a pick axe. This man seemed to be a miner, or a prospector, it was unclear, either way, he was dressed rather nicely for either one. Cynraede spoke up, trying to be heard over the rain.
"I am just passing through, trying to look for some work to earn some extra coin."
The man simply smiled from under the hood that covered most of his face and head. Though it was clear he knew he was not there for a prized buck, or a stuffed boar. He knew this man had other intentions, of much darker origins.
"If it is extra coin you look for, I know of some one looking for fine furs, pelts and meats. That is, if you are up for the task mister...?"
The men stared at each other for several moments, before the young hunter spoke up. Smiling as he offered the man his words.
"My name is friend, those who do not know me call me hunter"
The man stood there, clearly unimpressed by the young man. He folded his arms across his chest. He stared for a moment, before speaking up.
"I did not ask for foolish games boy. I asked your name, if you are to waste my time then I will be on my way. So I warn you, do not test my patience. I will give you but one more chance. My people simply call me the Prospector."
Cynraede stared at the man for a moment, trying to read the man before him. Yet all he could see, was shadow and smoke. There was much more to this man, much more than a prospector. Though what could he say, he was the hunter.
"Tell me, Prospector. What hides do these people of yours wish for?"
The man smiled, he knew he had the hunter. It was evident on his face. He inhaled deeply before speaking once more, this time with a smile.
"I said, my people call me prospector. You are not of my people, not yet. You should see for yourself. There is a neighborhood called Arrowhaven, you will find a man by the name of Wulfthred. He will give you the task, if he deems you worthy."
He smiled and gave a slight nod, then turned and made his way along the streets laden with puddles of water. Cynraede stood there for several moments, unsure of what to do. He had spent the last of the coins on the bolts, and it had been several days since he had a place to rest for at least a few hours time. What could it hurt? Chance to earn some more coin, maybe enough to buy a hot meal and a strong drink. He turned to the gate, looking along the cobblestone road as he wondered to himself.
What could it hurt? One job, get the hides and meats, get the coin. Probably wouldn't take him an evening, it'd be easy, and it would be honest work. He hefted his pack and began walking to the gate, the soaking wet warbraid dangling about as he tried to walk.
