Maryev wordlessly listened to what the ghost had to say. He inwardly smiled a grim bit of satisfaction. [I]You cannot hurt me now. I doubt you could lay a hand on my even in my full form, but I'm not here for a pissing contest.[/I] the ghost had said. It was so sure of its superiority it looked down upon everything else, even letting slip something as vital as the fact it possessed a corporeal form. It could be hurt, or killed. It just had to present itself. Maryev didn’t point out the ghost’s blunder, content to let it tell itself it was secure and untouchable. The Darknut would play the part until it exposed itself, if need be, and show it the error of its arrogance. It wasn’t a matter of if it could be harmed now; it was a matter of when and how. Those answers would come in time, if it so chose to continue harassing him. 

He turned his thoughts to what the ghost was proposing. Some form of employment? The thought was repugnant, working for something less than him. He was not a common sellsword, he was a proud warrior and a noble, a man of status. [I]Since when was the last time you walked the halls of Unyus with your head held high? You’ve been scraping by and starving since you awoke by the lake.[/I] he chided himself as he felt the ghost vanish from his shade. Looking upon the village before him, Maryev growled. It would be fun, but ultimately fruitless to tear it apart brick by brick. The people were not his enemy, as much as he despised them. He just wanted to be left to his own devises and leave them to theirs unless he needed to use them for something. He lifted his rapidly diminishing rupee purse and frowned. He needed the rupees to survive, and he wasn’t going to resort to being little more than a bandit to shake people down for their wealth. He was barely surviving, let alone thriving. What harm could it be to find if someone was willing to offer him rupees? The realization that he’d need others to reclaim his birthright and return home was hardly a new one to the Darknut warrior, but he had refused to entertain the idea. Maryev was no one’s servant.

But now, he had no choice.

Cursing under his breath, Maryev lowered his visor and grabbed his sword and shield, walking through the graveyard gates. He would entertain the ghost’s proposition, for now. But in the meantime, he would carry himself with pride and let anyone else gathered in the specified place see him as a man of pride and purpose, not as a desperate beggar in need of gems. He would learn if he was right to pay heed to the ethereal trickster soon enough.

Marching upon the graveyard, he paid no heed to the headstones as he passed – their stories had ended, no great deeds could be accomplished by dead men. It wasn’t long before he saw a gathered group, the young scrawny girl who had skulked by him minutes earlier (whatever did [I]she[/I] have to offer anyone?), another woman who was unnaturally pale and gangly in ill-fitting clothing who looked as if she were mentally vacant given her purposeless stares, a man in face concealing garment who seemed too flamboyant to be taken seriously, little more than a jester (in Maryev’s culture, an absolute dreg who was little better than the stooges who tended to his chamber pot), and a somewhat sinister looking figure in a robe that concealed everything about him… or it. There was something decidedly unpleasant and unnatural about him, not unlike a practitioner of dark arts. The robe gave off a similar vibe as the ghost from earlier, and Maryev wondered if this was indeed the ghost who had spoken to him earlier? He approached wordlessly and stood sentry, silently observing the others. His purpose of being here would be revealed soon enough and he was in no hurry to entertain the peasants.