The Homecoming

Three Months he had been traveling, heading back to his homeland, to his place of birth. Shadowdale. Entering Shadowdale from the North, his last stop being Voonlar where he had spent the night before, the Fighter's grey eyes lifted to the setting sun as he hiked his bag up onto his shoulder. If he could just reach the Old Skull Inn before too long, the Fighter might actually be able to rest.


Clad in his Chainmail armor, Vance would walk slowly deeper into the dale proper, watching the Milita come and go, his eyes tracking each one by the sounds of their steps. He had come alone, perhaps to find his family or old friends, but he honestly doubted anyone remembered him after he had left seven years ago. But the Mercenary had heard during his travels along the road of the problems plaguing his home, and with that in his heart, he had returned.


"By Helm, it is good to be home." Vance sighed, closing his grey eyes as he took a deep breathe. "Too long abroad teaches a man many things." He muttered to himself as he stopped, settling his bag on the ground, waiting for a Militia to notice him, so he could present himself as a friend to Shadowdale, and an ally come to help. As one passed near him, Vance brought his hand up, "Hail friend!"