Hunt for a Fallen King
 

Kairith walked out of the forest; he was now on a high hill overlooking a town. His prey had fled once again, but perhaps this would be the last time, the last world.

Again he wondered if he should form a team. His prey may not have been what he had once been, but it was still mighty, still clever, still something beyond mortal. Could one man ever catch such a thing? Would he give up before accepting that he could not manage alone?

He shoved these thoughts from his head, and focused. It had taken him three months to even trace his prey to this town; it would take everything to find him.

"You may have left the throne behind you, Morathor... but you cannot escape your guilt."

He walked into town.

OOC: Other characters are advised to just randomly run into Kairith as they please.

OOC little more info or action before I join

OOC: I intend to let most of the background get revealed as the story progresses, but I guess I can give you a setting. This is a generally fantasy setting; none of the locals would posess any sort of real technology, though the walls between dimensions are thin and outsiders might have almost any level or kind of technology. Magic is not commonplace, but not unheard of. This is a small, semirural village.

Kairith wandered into the nearest inn. Inns were the nexes in the web of social interaction; if someone in town had seen his target, that knowledge would get to at least one inn.

He began quietly listening in on conversations, questioning, looking for any hint of his target.

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Hearing the cheers emanate from the tavern door, a young man wanders in. The place is lively and smells of working men and ale. He loiters near the entrance and looks over the crowd to discern the reason for the commotion. He stands roughly six feet tall with deeply tanned skin. He wears a vest of heavy leather and a sword strapped to his right hip. His hat is slope brimmed and matches the leather of his vest. A well-worn riding cloak and cotton pants complete the ensemble. He walks to the bar and orders a shot of whisky, which he consumes quickly, without fanfare. He sits contentedly, as if waiting for destiny.

(Meh, I'm bored. Why not)
Hopefully there will be a cheep bed in this town, Kane thought as he rode slowly into town. He was 5' 10", and looked to be on the verge of 30, and not to have shaved in 3 days. He was built to be a taveler: thin, lean, and bulging calf and thigh muscles. The cheeks directly around his brown eyes were sunken slightly, and it was clear his nose had been broken more than once. He wore thin glasses, pushed up almost to the bridge of his nose. Every inch of his wide-brim black hat, light-brown pants, vest, shirt, and riding cloak were sunbaked, sandblased, and weatherworn. As was Ben, Kane's horse. Ben was a medium aged horse, light brown coat. He was a little small, but he was faster, stronger, and more hardy than any horse Kane had ever seen.

Kane stabled Ben himself at the inn. He patted Ben on the neck and said "Get some rest, it'll be a long week." He put his rapier on his belt, slung his saddle-bag onto his back, grabbed his small guitar, and headed into the inn. As he did so, he checked his coin purse to make sure the two coppers were still there.Here's hoping I can get a stable at least.

He held up his guitar to the barkeep, who nodded his aproval back to him. He sat down at an empty table, put his bags under it, and tossed his hat onto the table, opening up, and began to play a few notes.

"Do I hear any requests?" he asked in his deep voice, "Its only two crowns per song!" After a few chuckles, Kane began playing.

.

Kane looked at the 2 gold crowns in his hat. "You know...I was kidding about the two crowns thing, but hey! if you still want to give me that, I'm not going to say no." He began a fast, techincal song. The guitar was quite battered, and made out of a stiff wood more suited for shields than for instruments, but Kane made up for it with his ability. After all, he practiced almost every day he had traveled for the past 8 years, and he had traveled almost every day he had lived for the past 8 years, so he had had a lot of practice.

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the 6 foot 2 (in.) drumer with a slinder body in a blue uniform and blue eyes and thin blonde hair comes in with a perfect back drop to the song though improvosation then he thinks How again does druming help blocking attacks
OOC ment to be during the song