<div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/2b/Dwarf388.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Dunn Brakov<br/><strong>Location:</strong>In the Crowd<br/><strong>With: </strong>Himself<br/><hr/><br/>As the swell of people enveloped the two travelers, Dunn lost sight of the rogue Solniss. The crush of humans was almost overwhelming, and the dwarf found himself longing for the stillness of a forest grove. But trees didn't hire mercenaries, and though you could live off of moss and squirrels for a goodly long time, that path would never lead to justice for his village. He had to go where the money went, and that meant cities, no matter how distasteful the press of humanity was. Especially if you were the sort to carry your nose around at average human armpit height.<br/><br/>Luckily by the time the speeches began Dunn had secured himself a position standing on a barrel next to one of the game stalls. His line of sight wasn't perfect but he could hear and see adequately. They seemed a goodly enough lot, these people of Sandpoint. Not unlike his hometown in some respects, and strikingly different from the scum of Riddleport. He just might have reached the end of his journey for now. The dwarf was still weighing his decision when the last speaker, Father Zantus, took the stage. Here was a man who seemed worthy of respect -- he dressed simply, he had a good smile, and though he talked well he seemed no stranger to labor either. Then the dwarf heard those magic three words, and he knew his decision was made. Sandpoint was his new home. He repeated the priest in his own tongue, words he had neither heard nor spoken in a great many days. Beautiful words.<br/><br/>"Free of charge."<br/><br/>Dunn applauded as loudly as any of the local citizens near him. Though religion had never been a major part of his life, other than the usual prayers to Torag and his kin, he'd offer a prayer to this Desna if she was picking up the check.<br/><br/>After the talks the crowd mercifully thinned slightly. The greataxe strapped to his back helped to clear a corridor around him without the necessity of words. He felt in little danger of pickpockets, whether it was from the friendliness of the crowd or the knowledge that there were far more attractive targets than an armed and armored dwarf. The weight of his coin purse felt exactly right on his belt, not one copper missing from the last time he'd counted. A glance skyward told him that noon was still some hours off. He'd hold his hunger until then; no sense throwing coins down a well. The games, though... They didn't look too crooked, and perhaps a good way to strike up a conversation or even attract notice for a job. He walked up to one booth that boasted half a dozen small throwing axes embedded in the wooden counter, with an equal number of polished logs arrayed at the far side.<br/><br/>"I'll have a go, then," he gruffly announced while paying the silver coin dictated by the booth's sign. It took a second for his fingers to unclench for such a frivolous expense, but the shiny metal eventually came free.<br/>