Scales of War
Razorclaw, shifter, ranger
Sigh...the blood is taking a long time to wash off. I didn’t want to kill them, but they tried to stiff me what I was owed. 2 years I trotted along tracking every manner of beast imaginable so that those so called “adventurers” could claim them as their trophies. Adventurers, heh, what a joke…nothing more than a couple of spoiled, rebellious kids looking to prove themselves to an overbearing father. Always afraid to do anything too dangerous, but more than willing to torture creatures they knew they could easily defeat in order to pat themselves on the back and further inflate their already swollen egos…they should have paid me.
I’ve spent my whole life tracking and hunting in order to survive, skills I learned from my father until he was killed by an invading goblin horde. I hate goblins, nothing more than a vile plague of feces and disgust that take whatever they want without regard for others. Unless they can provide some sort of useful information I kill them on site.
These days I spend my time as a tracker/guide throughout the wilderness. It brings in good enough money, but work will be hard to find once people find those boys…need to keep moving, need a party to watch my back.
(Thorn dries his hands and returns to the main room of the tavern to listen for any signs of an adventuring party about to disembark.)