[center][h1][color=#B5A642][b]Dragan Meszaros[/b][/color][/h1][/center]

He knew the signs of poverty, both from his time as a paladin and as a prospective lord, making his way in the world. These villagers were in dire straits. Frankly, it was a small miracle that mankind had even survived however many decades or centuries it had been since the sun's light faded away. Even as Akyasha's gorebats returned to report in, Dragan frowned as he set his helmet down atop the haft of his buried hammer, his armored form stepping into the torchlight and into view of the villagers. 

The villagers would have to know of his presence sooner or later. Best to rip the bandage off before they could be accused of hiding the truth. 

[color=#B5A642][b]"Peace, please."[/b][/color] The Death Knight held his unarmed hands up in a conciliatory gesture. [color=#B5A642][b]"We mean no harm and have no intention to stay. We are travelers, passing through. I realize that my...appearance may suggest otherwise, but I swear that I have no intention to prey on the weak and the desperate."[/b][/color]