Brandon Rivers was a long way from home. The gentle pastures and clear, blue rivers of Cormyr were many leagues and many years behind him, and sandy dunes and an endless, shimmering horizon had taken their place. The locale was really the only thing that seemed to change, at least in any worthwhile sense. People were people no matter where you traveled, and a few things would always ring true. Money talked, no matter what language was spoken, and nothing was free. Growing up in a monastery, it had taken Brandon some time to get used to the accommodations typically afforded to "adventurers," a demographic which Brandon would only admit he now belonged to under pain of death. If he wanted someplace to sleep, he needed coin, and to get coin, he had to work for it. It was degrading, being reduced to a mercenary after years of loyal and pious service to the realm, but at least he had escaped Cormyr with his life. Others, such as the skull dangling at his hip, had been less lucky.

Still, he had to work if he wanted to eat or sleep, and so Brandon found himself following dubious leads and cavorting with unscrupulous characters. As far as mercenary work went, Brandon was quite discriminating; he was not an assassin, he would not kill individuals for money. Combat in the field was an entirely different story, as was bodyguard work, both of which he had dabbled in. His bread and butter so to speak involved the extermination of fiends and undead, which Brandon was more that proficient in, and he enjoyed work that still felt like providing a service to the public. He had become adept at navigating tombs, crypts, caves, and other dark places beneath the earth, as these were where evil beings most commonly congregated. With that in mind, when Brandon saw a missive advertising a foray into a lost ruin, he considered that it might be a task worthy of his skills and experience.

That all led him before this man, Jakeem Kalil, and in the presence of a handful of other eccentric strangers. Brandon preferred to work alone if he could, so that he wouldn't have to split the payment, but for now he would wait and see what these others brought to the table. After their prospective employer addressed them, guards at the ready, Brandon stepped forward. He was barefoot, his draconian talons clicking against the cool stone of the marble floor, and carried his halberd pointed straight up, like a loyal and dutiful sentry. His armor was dirty, tarnished, rusted in places, shot through with holes, and its heraldry had been blasted off by the sun and blowing sand, making him a less than resplendent figure. However, he was easily the largest person in the room, standing a foot taller than the most robust of Kalil's guards.

"[color=aba000]I am Sir Brandon Rivers, Knight of Cormyr, of the Order of Lathander.[/color]" He adressed Kalil in his scratchy Dragonborn voice, banging his scaly fist against his breastplate in salute. He didn't kneel, or bow, as Brandon reserved such acts of supplication for his king, and this man was surely no king.