The narrow, muddied streets of Cartelom were alive in parts, but not all throughout. The stretch that Dharrec now walked along would take him through the place where many of the city's smiths, carpenters, stone-workers and other such industrial workers were supposed to live. His gaze wandered up to the second stories of the houses as he approached, their outer walls distended out from those of the ground floor and left to hang partially over the streets. What could be seen through the windows of these houses made them appear empty and lifeless, though many of the windows did appear to be obstructed by some thing or another. But if Dharrec was to believe what he had heard - and, more importantly, if what he heard was true - then the occupants of these seemingly vacant buildings were still very much alive despite all the evidence to the contrary. And... that's just about as far as people cared to pry. 

Dharrec did not feel it was his place to ask much of those who lived here, especially considering he was an outsider. But that couldn't stop him from feeling that the smiths and carpenters and all the other workers living here deserved more than what they had been given - though, in all fairness, so did everyone else. But it wasn't the merchants whom would repair the outer walls of damage; it wasn't the priests whom had devised plans to reinforce the walls against future attack; and it was most certainly not bakers whom were responsible for crafting the weapons and equipment used to fight the undead each and every day. It was the stoneworkers, the smiths, the carpenters... and now, without the resources or reason to work, they had little to do but keep to themselves. At least they had a place to call home, Dharrec supposed, though how they could afford to eat was still quite the mystery.

The buildings parted to reveal the towering form of the Lord's Keep as Dharrec rounded the corner at the end of the street. The Keep used to stand tall a bright beacon of hope, but the whiteness of the once stark walls had become weathered and faded. On account of everything that had happened in the last three months, the need for a new coat paint paled in comparison to the need for food or weapons. Dharrec certainly understood that people were more important than the color of a building... but the Lord's Keep looked to be in such a sorry state of affairs that it may as well be abandoned. Of course, the Keep itself was very much alive with activity - mostly guards, advisors, or warriors. 

Dharrec stepped up and opened the door, finding himself greeted by a larger crowd than expected. A quick glance would show that a good portion of those gathered here were rather young, and had probably volunteered - or been volunteered - out of desperation. Money was hard to come by these days, and participating in expeditions could provide enough to feed a man well. That wasn't to say a family couldn't make good use of the funds, because they most definitely could, but less of it would be left to pay for new equipment or repairs. Some of these young men and women were undoubtedly going to die, from naivety or being under-equipped or any other number of possibilities, with the only uncertainty being [i]when[/i]. 

Some of these faces, though, were familiar. Dharrec had worked with some of them on prior expeditions but could not remember any of their names, he did not want to - not again. They were comrades and companions and compatriots, and nothing more. The only exceptions were Dharrec's superiors, most notably being Captain Hannigan - who was due to receive the official title of 'Lord' in but a few more days when the ceremony would be held - though Dharrec realized he was not yet present. The relative silence soon gave way to bantering and conversing as the volunteers sought to occupy themselves in Hannigan's continued absence. Meanwhile Dharrec kept to himself just a few short feet away, leaning against the wall and idly observing the other occupants of the great hall.