[center][h1][color=dimgray]Caractacus[/color][/h1][/center]

Caractacus sighed, deciding to take a few steps away from the ever growing party. It was maddening, humans and elves and whatever else Ysran was, all crowding and squawking and chattering. He sighed, admonishing himself, that however much he dreaded it, friendship with the mob was better than trying to go it alone at this point. They at least were mildly interesting to watch.

The group had come to an agreement, it seemed, to relocate to a nearby lake, and make camp for the night. Caractacus had no qualms in such a decision, and so, he voiced none, instead keeping toward the rear of the party, surrounded by his undead, as they made for the waterfront. He kept his silence during the long march, though at times he felt the toll of his magic use throughout the day. His stomach growled along the way, his legs ached though it was far from extreme exertion, and he found himself stepping with his staff as the miles dragged on. Were he alone, Caractacus would have merely had his zombies carry him, but he had no inclination of such indulgences when in front of others. He would look foolish.

Finally, the group reached the lake, and quickly began dividing up labor, with the lumberjack taking the lead. The warrior assigned Caractacus to wood-gathering. He frowned a moment, assigned to such menial work as to traipse through the woods for sticks, but he supposed his zombies were well suited to the task.  [color=dimgray]"Very w-well."[/color] He waved an arm, and gave his minions the order and hey stalked off into the woods to execute it. Caractacus followed along with them into the woods, if only to make sure they do not start a fight with whatever other strangers may be wandering out there.