The forest was his home, a place of refuge and peace. Varian Althurin was a scout of several mercenary groups before deciding to strike out on his own, a chance to break away from the orderly requirements of discipline and professionalism of a military unit. Now, he walked alongside the caravan with his bow out resting on his shoulder, the half-elf considered his surroundings, wondering if this would simply be a mundane escort task, or if it would lead to something greater. The quiet half-elf spoke little, preferring to let his actions do the talking. Not that he would shy away from voicing his views, but Varian was hardly the talkative one.<br/><br/>All he wanted was to be done with this lucrative work, and return to the tavern board. Surely the fates would have something more for him? Not that Varian would complain, but it does feel good to be used in something greater from time to time. It was the pride of an adventurer, despite the misgivings of many who assumed him to be a troublemaker even before he could explain himself, that he'd be one who dislikes evil, but hate being bound by the tenets of good.<br/><br/>However, it remained a mystery to Varian, for when does one reach the line?