The Long Road
Your average run of the mill travelling party.
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Sunlight spills across the guild courtyard with an almost offensive cheerfulness, painting the weathered stone in warm gold despite the chill lingering in the morning air. Wagons creak past, merchants hawk their wares, and somewhere a blacksmith’s hammer keeps steady rhythm against steel. Another day. Another road.
Jör Emrys Dain stands beneath the guild archway with the detached stillness of something observing rather than belonging. At 6’4”, his lithe, athletic frame is draped beneath a weathered traveling cloak, its hood casting his striking features into shadow. Dark walnut hair is tied loosely at his nape, while the faint green-gold shimmer of opalescent scales catches along his throat and forearms whenever the light finds him. Chartreuse eyes drift across the courtyard with practiced precision, cataloguing exits, weapons, strangers, and opportunities before settling on the growing cluster of familiar faces.
The Charter hasn’t assigned them together by coincidence. Silver Rank adventurers earn enough trust to travel farther than most—and enough reputation to be given the contracts others quietly avoid. Monster hunts. Escort work. Forgotten ruins. Border disputes. The sort of work that keeps coin in a purse and names on a memorial if luck runs dry.
Jör slips a hand into his pocket, fingers brushing the old locket before letting it go. Not today. Today there’s only another road, another contract… and a waiting party already gathering beneath the Duskwall Charter’s banner.
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