<div class="floatleft">(https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/788133838836596778/788215007485231104/1dadfc_7247875_2.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Meris Searhammer (https://ddb.ac/characters/35944902/ZaPbJ7)<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Black leather pants, smithing apron -> Changing in to Edgy Cleric Armor<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Mystery Barrel Room<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Yes<br/><br/><strong>HP:</strong>30/30 -<strong>AC:</strong>12<br/><strong>Passive Perception/Insight:</strong>15<br/><strong>Passive Investigation: 9</strong><br/><br/><strong>Effects:</strong>Fire Resistance<br/><strong>Actions:</strong>Donning Armor<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Horns appearing first, then the rest of the tiefling's head popped over the top of the large tempering barrel, hands wrapping along the upper lip. "What happened? Eh? You lot got shifted here too? Wonder why it took this thing with me," Meris asked aloud, knocking on the inside of her barrel. The tiefling climbs up and out of the barrel, then kicks it over with a leather boot to the tune of metal and chain clattering together. The remaining contents of Meris' hidey-hole spill out, on to the stone tile floor. Her armor, a hammer and her shield. Shameless, Meris tosses her apron off and starts putting on a shirt and armor. A black steel chain shirt and a few pieces of plate in vital places. The bottom half and arms of her armor is more akin to a robe of black and red cloth. Metal and leather gloves. Upon her chest and her kite shield, both are emblazoned with a symbol, a Black Greatsword, blade pointed downwards and wreathed in flame. Meris looks to the other four in the room with her. "Well, my friends. Whatever shall we do? I heard word as I spied upon some of our illustrious intruders; the army is in a rush to be elsewhere." Meris wished that the army would leave straight away. The Dark Lords armory always intrigued her, such treasures stored away that she would love nothing more than to get her greedy red hands on. Meris felt uncertain, a mess of feelings inside over the death of her employer and Lord. Mostly, worry over what would become of her home. A crumbling wreck was all that remained of the building, but some of the people she had grown familiar with remained. A gaggle of vagabonds, could that really be called a home?