Gaderon turned from the doll at the sound of a voice, quickly followed by footsteps approaching him. As two figures came into view, he stood, the doll still held in his hand. The woman at the head of the pair was dressed in garb too fanciful for simple villagers but not as fanciful as that of a noble but held herself like one of noble birth, and her companion was of the strangest sort, a lizardman. Gaderon had never seen one in person before, but he had heard tales. When she spoke, Gaderon recognized the accent instantly; she was of Vrettonian birth.

[color=royalblue]"Friend or foe?"[/color]

Gaderon stared at the woman and her strange companion for a moment. He opened his mouth to answer when a gruff voice came from behind the pair before him.

[b]"I hope you weren't the one who did this!"[/b]

The old man stood next to the woman, a trident and shield drawn. The trident dripped blood from the tips, yet he was the one accusing Gaderon of wreaking such havoc. The South was proving to be more interesting day by day. The hard look had been receding, but it now returned, bringing his scars back into fiercer focus. He let the doll fall to the cobblestone underfoot and lie with the other bodies around him and then drew his estoc from his belt. He took no fighting stance, yet, but held the tip of the silver-laced blade level with the man yelling accusations through the graveyard they had all stumbled upon.

[color=A8B0A7]”I happened upon this catastrophe much like you, old man, but my weapon isn’t the one dripping blood upon the ground,”[/color] Gaderon’s accent came out similar to that of other Banians, but his mother’s lessons throughout childhood kept him from rolling his r’s so much. He kept his piercing blue eyes on the old man, waiting to see how he would respond.