Hriston
Dungeon Master of Middle-earth (He/him)
A studious looking young man of average build climbs the way to the tower listening to the sound of rainfall as it splashes against the fallen leaves of Autumn revealed by the melting snow and forms into rivulets that run between crannies in the rocks down the hill. As he passes through the garden, the rain's pitter-patter blends into the light sound of melodious drumming that emanates from the building's interior.
"It seems a party is underway," he thinks to himself as he turns the door handle, wondering who else has heeded the summons.
As he enters and makes his way through the room to the large table, his clothes, though damp with rain, can be seen to be the robes of the brotherhood of a nearby temple. He helps himself to a piece of cheese and a mug of beer and goes to dry himself by the fire.
He looks up at the tall men standing by the fire, water still dripping from the end of his nose, and greets them and the orc and the old man sitting on the bench as they listen to Shamal's song.
"Well met," he says, "my name is Terrin."
"It seems a party is underway," he thinks to himself as he turns the door handle, wondering who else has heeded the summons.
As he enters and makes his way through the room to the large table, his clothes, though damp with rain, can be seen to be the robes of the brotherhood of a nearby temple. He helps himself to a piece of cheese and a mug of beer and goes to dry himself by the fire.
He looks up at the tall men standing by the fire, water still dripping from the end of his nose, and greets them and the orc and the old man sitting on the bench as they listen to Shamal's song.
"Well met," he says, "my name is Terrin."
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