The fresh air filled the hunters nostrils, air he had not tasted in quite some time that had once been so familiar. His tattered cloak wrapped around his slender figure, the brooch upon his breast shining like freshly polished silver. He paused for but a moment, running his fingers across the worn, weathered wooden sign that simply read ‘Arrowhaven’.
The neighborhood before him had clearly seen it's years, some of the fences were worn and old. Homes that once housed smiling grounds keepers and shops all around seemed dormant and the once thriving emporium, lay silent upon the hill. Cynreade continued on the stone path that he had once walked so many times before, seeing his companions sparring in the yards and the fair haired lass he had grown to love. The master craftsman Dwimmer, Lord Lindovor even the warrior Angelnarth.
The Warhorse Inn stood before him, sign partially covered with cloth and it was clear it had not recent guests until recently. For a moment, the hunters heart skipped a beat as his mind raced across the possibilities. A bandit perhaps? Surely one wouldn't be daft enough to steal from this neighborhood but either way he was bound to find out. Continuing on to the door while one hand moved to the blade sheathed across the small of his back, his hand pulling back the door with a loud creak.
“Who goes there! Speak quickly!” Cynreade shouted, moving into the main hall quickly to find a lone man sitting at the table in front of him, setting down the tankard of ale. They both seemed to stare at each other for several moments before Cynraede pulled the hood down and loosed the crazy, dirtied locks that adorned his head and the unkempt beard that had taken over his lower face.
The prospector sat there, filthy from head to toe as if he had been wondering for ages. Ripped and shredded clothes, boots with holes through them. He pulled a filthy lock of hair behind his ear and simply grinned.
“Come now, Cynraede. We’ve much work to do.”
