Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-31049256-20180109050017/@comment-28358106-20180109184526

His gait slow and slightly stiff, his dented armor giving muted clanks, Eothred walks down the main street of the Vantulos Headquarters town...or part of it, at least. A great deal of it is simply piles of scorched rubble. Buildings here and there have escaped the destruction, and many are being rapidly rebuilt by the talented members of the Band, but the signs of a ferocious struggle are still everywhere.

His eyes widen. What in the hells did he miss while he was knocked cold?

He looks at his helmet. Slightly squashed, with a large dent on one side, the attendants had to pry it free from his head so they could heal him. He would've been annihilated had he been unarmored. He wonders what members that fought that could have done that, that could have leveled an entire town.

He gives a dejected sigh and moves on. The world was rapidly shrinking, and there were fewer places for ordinary humans in it every day. Even with his body magically healed, his stiff joints and protesting muscles remind him that he had no business in the tournament, surrounded by legendary Heroes and Monsters. A lifetime of training and exceptional skill were no longer enough.

He pushes the thought from his mind. He has money now, more than enough to press south, where he has been heading these many months. He was closer now to his goal than he had been in a long time, and that was something that lifted his spirits more than anything.

He sees a large, well-stocked smithy with what looks like an adjacent armory. Just what he needs. His helmet fixed, a new tabard and cloak, and a good blade; not one of those damnable, too-light Silver ones, either...

He heads towards it, and walks inside. The door chime rings.