<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/BdSefSx.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Kroth-Taran<br/><strong>Race and occupation:</strong>Human Barbarian<br/><strong>Location &amp; Time:</strong>Farmlands/ destroyed wheat fields/after midnight W1D3-Castalin<br/><strong>Tagging{/b] An-Yah; open<br/></strong><hr/><em>Don't go out after dark!</em>the old man and his wife had warned Taran.<em>The old Dread will get you!"</em>These finger-waggling admonishments had been fine pay for a day of helping the old hunchback carry his turnip crop. It was work below Kroth-Taran, as far as he was concerned... but the work that<em>was</em>worth his time wasn't exactly available and didn't come with a standing offer of dinner and a warm fire. Still, once the old coot had started dropping terribly subtle hints about the availability of his granddaughters, Taran decided it was a good time to head out.<br/><br/>Into the dark. And apparently "The Old Dread," whatever that was. hah! Kroth-Taran wasn't scared! And if something had to be named "dread" how dreadful could it be? With his sword over his back, his sandals on his feet, and honestly not much besides a few rabbitskins between, Taran had braved the dark, the chill, and the sad stares of the elderly turnip farmers, and struck the road to Amberdale.<br/><br/>of course it's easy to be brave when the moon is bright and it's warm enough that the insects are still buzzing. Once the moon was shrouded in long fingers of cloud, and his tribe's star-totem totally hidden, Taran began to idly wonder what the "Old Dread" might be. A dragon perhaps, black as night that swooped down on travelers. or perhaps a demon that jumped from the crossroads to demand a song. Maybe it was a big spider, with ten times eight legs, scuttling<em>just... behind... you</em>That one did make the soft hairs on Taran's arms prickle up, and he dared a glance backwards. Just in case.<br/><br/>Nothing.<br/><br/><em>That he could see</em>.<br/><br/>Seven gods damn that old man and his vague tales. Taran had heard stories of wendigo and redcaps so fierce they could make that geriatric dirt-tosser lose all the hair in his ears. "Hah!" Taran barked into the night, a bold laugh.<strong>"Come, Old Dread, I'll pull your legs out one by one, all eighty of them!"</strong>he was now sure that this spook must be a spider. Easily squished. Creepy, but squishable.<br/><br/>With his bolstering boast, Taran strode easier... if a little bit faster, past the eerie rustling of the wheat field. Just in time for a lone traveler to pop from the grain onto the road ahead of him. Well that's odd. As it was not a spider, clearly it was not the ghoul he'd been warned about, which meant it must be friendly. Or a wheat bandit; was there such a thing? One way to find out.<br/><br/><strong>"O'itso, traveler!"</strong>he called out towards An-Yah.<strong>"It's a long walk to the village, shall we share the road? Perhaps ward off the Old Dread?"</strong>he chuckled, and quickened his pace, long strides bringing him to the figure ahead.