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It was with a frown and a brow furrowed with exasperation that [url=http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/64032/posts/ooc?page=3#post-1988667]Ernst[/url] nibbled on the only food he had left: dried river fish. Now, he wasn’t a picky fellow when it came to cuisine, being a peasant and all, but what in the hell possessed that fisherman to put so much salt in it? He found himself reaching for his waterskin often as he sat miserably against the wall of an abandoned house in the night and ate his meager dinner, watching with some contempt a group of youthful adventurers discussing their next travels in undoubtedly newly-forged plate armor. Nobles’ children, no doubt. Enduring much hardship and taking part in the Exodus of the Impoverished has given Ernst a small hatred for the people who lorded over his class. They had it so awfully easy.

But, like he said to himself before, Gods and Kings do what they will, and people like him do as they must. There’s nothing he can change about that.

He had spent most of the day sleeping after checking out the message board in the morning. In the nearby forest, of course, to avoid looters stealing whatever meager value there was left on his person. His skill as a woodsman allowed him to sleep on a thick tree branch without falling, and he woke up only at night, at which point he went back to Toruka to gawk at anything interesting until it was time to meet with his potential employer and/or captain.

But even as an experienced woodsman, sleeping on a tree branch of all places was understandably uncomfortable for Ernst. Gladly would he take the soft cushioning of a warm inn’s bed over hard, cold and scaly bark, but he did not have the money for that: but a lone silver coin lay sewn in the underside of his gambeson, and he was very reluctant to spend it.

Just as he tossed aside the bony remains of his most unwelcoming meal, the distant bells of the local church tolled nine times. He looked in the direction of the sound, and, after a scratch of the head and a weary sigh, his unmotivated muscles managed to win the uphill struggle to get him to stand. He then made his way to the Black Water Tavern: a comely little establishment that offered much comfort for adventurers like him -- if they had the coin, of course.

The glowing hearthfires of the inside contrasted with the cold of the outside night, and he welcomed this new heat as it caressed his face and hands: the only skin left exposed by his bulky, reaching outfit. Meekly closing the door behind him, he approached the only seeming patrons, namely, a dwarf, a sword sister -- wearing plate and mail! She must be a noble's daughter -- and a boy who seemed to like his clothes sporting overreaching, all-encompassing fabric.

“Strange to see such a place having so few patrons,” he said in his approach, by way of greeting. “At this time of night, I expected to see a whole bunch of lads having a good time. But here we are, just being solemn, eh?”