Grimwauld paced through the scourged land with a sigh, his weapons on his back for lack of use. The average cut throats that patrolled the lands tended to ignore him, or even on occasion chat with him. There was much in-fighting inside the ruins of the once great land, but strength always works well as a bargaining card for those who live amongst the dread. He came upon what seemed to be a clearly misinformed traveler, and a couple of bandits, watching silently to see if anything of note would happen. Sympathy was a fable in the dread lands, kinda like hope.