[h3][right][color=C1CDCD]Nemorad[/color][/right][/h3][hr] [i]Chnk.. Chnk.. Chnk..[/i] A rather tall, wide-shouldered individual rounded the stables at a stroll's pace, his right arm elevated to rest his on the withers of the Appaloosa walking at his side, a decently light saddle sat unaffixed upon its back; the rings and buckles clinking as they moved. The two walked a few more steps as they came to approach the wayside. The Appaloosa was a tall black, with a rear overlay spotting pattern of white, which saturated it up to its hips - as well as making it look like it wore black-speckled socks on each leg. Its mane was black and short, as well as its tail. Its rider gave it a pat on the neck, signaling the majestic animal to stop, as he began to rock the saddle into the right position. It wasn't long that the two'd been in town - their first morning, actually. The days before arriving they'd rode the countryside at a leisurely pace, though there was a slight air of excitement about the rider. He was fresh to the county, having been on the move for quite a time as he traveled across the West, and had visited just a couple of towns in the county before this one. This one seemed to be one of those towns that was more out of the way - but it had a decent population. And so far, the inhabitants had been more receptive of him than some of the other towns he'd come across - they actually let him buy a room. Not that he really [i]needed[/i] a room, but he was once told it is the correct thing to do. Y'know, instead of just standing outside in the middle of the night and waiting 'til morning. Oddly enough though, as he was leaving his room at one of the smaller inns in town, he'd found a letter slipped under the door addressed to him, a one 'Mister Nemorad'. He'd [i]never[/i] received a letter in his life. Hence, you might not be surprised to find that he tore it [i]just a little bit[/i] as he tried to carefully open it with his thick wooden digits. Was still legible though, and it inquired of his assistance - something that was not difficult to elicit from him. He soon sought to read said newspaper that the letter had suggested, and was saddened by the unfortunate events that apparently had been plaguing the town. So of course, he decided it was the best decision to try and help out. Regardless of any financial compensation. Nemorad finished cinching the rear strap of the saddle, patting the horse on the flanks as he stood straight again to approach its front side, setting his right hand on its withers once more, and beginning to lead it down the street. He'd inquired to the innkeeper before he'd left of the location of Caraway Inn - earning a conflicted look from them, as he'd just done business with [i]their[/i] inn - but he received directions nonetheless. And that's where he'd now be headed. [hr] After a while of trotting along, the Appaloosa's soft clopping brought it to the Caraway Inn, alongside its rider. Nemorad led the animal to a nearby patch of grass, before turning away from his companion and walking towards the doors to the inn. To any bystanders it would seem like an ignorant thing, to leave one's horse unattended and untethered - but the Warforged had found that it was a helpless measure with his horse. On more than one occasion the Stallion had chewed right through any leads tied to it - but it never wandered too far from where'd it'd been left. And it wasn't very friendly with people - only its rider, which it recognized easily - so leading it away was a dicey endeavor. One of Nemorad's rough hands pushed open the door to the inn as he stepped inside, scanning the occupants of the establishment. He received a few looks himself - it could be assumed that Warforged were of a rarer breed than even the dwellers of Forsaken were used to. And even then, one with beast fur upon its shoulders, half a set of horns, and a shining gold star on its peck would be even more bizarre. He turned his gaze to the counter, spotting the innkeep and approaching. He was just about to speak when the barman eyed him and gave him a nod towards the stairs. "Room 310." Satisfied with the answer, Nemorad gave an eager 'thumbs up' to the barman and smiled under his faceplate. He then turned to the stairs, and ascended them, a few of the wooden steps emitting a slight creaking as he did so. Soon enough, he reached the second floor and was glad to see that the rooms were clearly labeled. Keeping his head cocked, he glanced up at the number above each room as he passed - eventually coming upon a room with its door open - and apparently quite occupied already. Room 310. He tentatively coaxed his large stature into the doorway - before promptly realizing that smacking one's horn into the top of the frame was not the most successful way of doing so. He always forgot to make extra clearance. He stooped lower, and stepped in before rising up to his normal height again. If he could make such minute facial expressions[i](and wasn't wearing a faceplate)[/i], one would say he was somewhat embarrassed by his less-than-elegant entrance into the small room with several other people. [color=C1CDCD]"Greetings.."[/color] he said to nobody in particular - his voice gravelly yet pronounced, its travel seemingly unaffected by his faceplate - as he scanned those who had arrived before him.