Back in his prime, sir Arthur Chastibul would have expected to see gleaming knights riding in on horseback, eager and determined to slay Asaroth and gain favor with the King. They would pull out their enchanted, golden swords and return the land of Olde back to the way it used to be. The rivers would flow fresh clear water again and the mines would be cleared of the monsters that dwelled within. Ash would've became a great city, with Arthur at the helm as mayor. Instead however, he peered at the motley crew from a shattered window, before cautiously taking a step into the deserted street. The only sounds to be heard were his steel tipped boots clacking on the cracked cobblestones and the old cart, creaking silently behind the group. 

Quietly he looked over the crew, distaste evident in his tired eyes. He was mildly surprised to find a Templar in the lot of them, wondering just how much misfortune it took to force such a noble to these forsaken lands. [b]"Dirty half breed." [/b] Arthur muttered under his breath, eyeing the half vampire like a pawn broker would eye an ugly doll. Finally he glanced over at the priest, quickly taking a step back and tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. The seal of Shee'l Tor swinging from a chain around his neck. [b] "What's a fucking necromancer doing on a quest to slay a demon. " [/b] he said, hatred almost billowing out from him. 

Arthur spat a brown glob of something onto the cobblestone before addressing the group. [b] "Right then, so I'm guessing there's no gold plated knight in that cart behind you?" [/b] His vain hopes were quickly dashed as with a squeal of protest, the cart turned around and began trundling its way back from whence it came. [b] "Guess not" [/b] he muttered quietly before continuing. [b] " c'mon then, let's head to my office. It'll be safer in there. " [/b] he gestured toward the slowly setting sun [b] "when the light dies, so does anyone caught outside. " [/b]. Quickly Arthur turned on his heel and shouted to the town guard, which as of now only consisted of 2 burly men, one armed with a pitchfork and the other with a farming scythe [b] "keep an eye on that necromancer there! Run him through if he tries anything! " [/b] One of the men, whose wife had been eaten in the last zombie attack, aimed a deathly grin at the dark robed figure before nodding silently. The other man, superstitious of all gods but his own, took one look at the grim faced figure and immediately took a couple of steps back.