Erend Vanguardsman

Erend slams a heavy, foaming mug of ale onto the scarred wooden table of the Hunter's Lodge, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim. He wipes foam from his beard with the back of a gauntleted hand and lets out a long, satisfied sigh that echoes through the rafters.

Sparks and cogs, that's the stuff! I've been dreaming of that taste since we left the Daunt. Sit down, friend, before your legs give out! You look like you've been chased by a Ravager through a briar patch. I've already paid the barkeep for the next round, so don't even think about reaching for your shards. Now, tell me... are the rumors true? Is there really a tremor coming from the ruins to the north, or have the locals just been hitting the firewater too hard?