Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-27550231-20200125011422/@comment-28718853-20200127114303

Two people approach the town of Harkon, a Hellhound and a man. The Hellhound stands at an imposing height of eight feet with the muscles of a Minotaur and is donned in a leather armor that has scratches across the torso area. The man is a mere skinny five foot seven and has on a dusty white shirt and green pants with boots. His short hair is brown and his eyes are hazel.

"You think the town is welcoming to outsiders?" the man, Naymond asks his wife Xinderas.

Xinderas's eyes shift down to her husband and says, "Hopefully more welcoming than those bandits. That attack and the ruined caravan left me in quite the sour mood."

"Oh come on! You had them on the run!" Naymond says as he playfully punches his wife in the side trying to lift her spirits.

"Yes, but not before all of the carts were rendered useless," Xinderas mutters.

"Well, because of you and several others, most of the passengers were safe," says Naymond.

He then points to the sack by his waist and adds, "And besides, the head was nice enough to reward us for our aid in driving off those scoundrels."

Xinderas rolls her eyes and replies, "Our aid? More like you hid in one of the carts during most of the fighting."

"Well, I'm no brawler like you my beautiful amazonian beast!" Naymond says as he strokes Xinderas's arm.

The two reach the entrance and Naymond asks the guards out front with a friendly wave, "Greetings there! How are you lot doing?"