There had been many long days and longer nights yet that were the travels throughout this land, that of which Brannor was not familiar to in even the slightest. As foreign as it was, he had found himself drawn to it with a distant but almost compulsive pull, subtle enough for him to not be wary or fearful of its strangeness, but respectful enough to know it had [i]some[/i] importance. The reward for the wanderer's answer to the call was, at first, nothing. Nothing but wandering deeper and closer to this town of Greenest until he found himself into it, but even then that did little to sate his lust for an answer. There had been a week of time, maybe longer, that he had been out and about the area that surrounded it; plains, forest, both more familiar than the town itself, but not the answer in the slightest.

It nagged at him, irritatingly enough.

But now was the time to return for well deserved rest, drink and other finer things that were not plentiful in nature; civilization had certain comforts that they were regularly privileged to, just as he was granted certain blessings of the wilderness. In either case, this pursuit led him to follow in the wake of a trade caravan that he had caught sight of earlier in the day. Their steady pace was easy enough to gain on, after all.

By coming twilight, as Brannor followed with dusted boots in their tracks, the sky beyond had increasingly darkened and the air smelled of distant ash. Intriguing the broad, tall man, he paid more mind now to what was before him, rather than to his side or behind. He had thought it was smoke on the horizon, but until now it made little sense, so little that he had initially disregarded it. The thought was, admittedly, a bit absurd until his golden eyes fell upon it themselves; it drew his pace to a slow walk now at a slight angle rather than the tail end of the caravan itself.

Smoke and fire, just as he had witnessed, but the town itself was what found itself in cinders. That all was ignoring the presence of a dragon, of which circled what had been all their goal.

They went for some time more, but the caravan's master wisely brought the entirety to a halt not too long after. Circling the wagons, he then addressed the gathering that formed in the middle while Brannor drew in from the outside. Stepping between the horses, one of whom his sizable hand patted on the thick of the beast's neck, he edged the exterior of the crowd; leather-bound greatsword sheathed across his back clinking against his chain and hide garb. From here, he listened in, hearing out the man who had been leading this travel it seemed. From his call to arms, Brannor shook his head; he hated to agree that something should be done, dragon and all, but it was a risk someone better equipped for this should do.

A large, lone blade rose to the air in a quick thrust as a man of orcish blood rallied in excitement, providing a warcry.

[i]"Waaaaargh! Fight dragons!" [/i]

Brannor had started to slip between the small gathering, drawing closer to the front while people murmured and muttered. Shouldering gently here and there, he found himself to the side of the orc, who looked around in eagerness for companions; the two shared a brief exchange of glares and there wasn't anything that needed to be said for both had the same intent. Regardless of that, the large man, dressed in wanderer's clothes, came to a halt, a silver pendant of a tiger's snarling visage upon his neck.

"I might not be part of your group," Brannor looked to Addio with a nod, "But I am willing to help you and them."