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For many moons now Vale had found himself traveling without direction, his path unknown. The world had become a very dangerous and unkind place in recent times, and for a man such as himself it was already fairly dangerous. The new disturbance had made an already difficult life that much harder. Places where he’d usually gotten away with his usual tricks were experiencing heightened levels of scrutiny and vigilance that had made his attempts beyond risky. His last act had ended with him narrowly avoiding capture at the hands of a mob, regardless he’d had to leave the small hamlet behind him, likely for good. 

Ever since he’d found himself endlessly on the move with no provisions, no home, and no real plan on what to do next. It was difficult enough, life as a dark elf, and his was a touch harder with no community to call his own. Briefly his heart panged for Glorenthil, or at least the memory of Glorenthil. The endless black of night gave way to low voices and the barest hint of light up ahead. Vale’s first instinct was to avoid it, turn slightly southward and circle about, but a low grumble and a sharp pain in his gut forced him to stay his initial instincts. Desperation drove him forward, but years of experience ensured that he still approached quietly, observing the occupants before deciding to approach further.

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Only the most observant of the group [i]might[/i] have noticed the signs that another presence was near. Silence reigned amongst the forest sentinels that stood in solemn watch around the flickering campfire where weary travelers had slowly begun to congregate. The creatures of the night had grown still, a sign that something was likely prowling nearby.

A voice, low and smooth, called out from somewhere amongst the shadows surrounding the camp, [color=9e0b0f]“Wolves are not the only [i]undesirables[/i] one runs the risk of attracting on nights like these. The affairs of the world breed desperation in times like these.”[/color]

Slowly a masked and hooded figure materialized from the shadows with a practiced deliberation born from over half a century of slinking about the underworld. Every rustle of fabric, armor, and weaponry that announced his presence was purposeful, intentional, a way to make his presence known as he neared the edge of the firelight. Kneeling down with a bowed head he slowly lowered his hood and raised his eyes to those who had gathered. A fierce pride burned behind the eyes of the dark elf who knelt in the fires of the campfire. He would have this situation play out any other way if he could, that much might be noticed by the perceptive. But as he’d said before, desperation forced him to swallow that pride.

[color=9e0b0f]“Would you allow one such as myself to seek succor amongst the light of your fire?”[/color] the figure asked, betraying nothing of its inner turmoil other than the look one might catch in his eyes.