Shadow of Hope II
A lone traveler garbed in hooded dark green comes riding into view around the bend. As the rider gets closer to the bridge, the man pulls back his hood from his bald head to better see the place to which he was summoned.
Examining the workers as they place stones in the bridge and looking around at other travelers at hand, the man dismounts, strapping a medium sized chest onto his back and pulling a covered shield from where it hangs on the saddle. Going around to the front of the animal, he pulls an apple out of his pocket and feeds it to the horse.
“Thank you, good fellow. I appreciate the ride,” the rider says quietly as the apple disappears while he pets the beast.
Stroking the horse one last time, the man mumbles under his breath and the horse shimmers slightly and vanishes in the next breath. Settling the chest on his back with a shrug, he places his covered shield in his left hand as he approaches the bridge.
“So this is where the gods choose to do battle,” he muses as he watches the construction, giving it a practiced eye.
He rubs the holy symbol hanging from his neck, sending a quick prayer of thanks for his arrival.
Though fit and with the carriage of the well traveled, the stranger’s robe showing little sign of wear. A large pouch on his belt and the dagger hanging opposite balance out his traveling ensemble.
Spotting a place near the bridge that is light with traffic, the man walks over and sets down his chest. Pulling out a large book and a set of drawing tools, he sits on the chest and starts sketching the scene, his shield acting as a table propped on his legs. It does not take him long to get the basic lines right and to start filling in the vista, his gaze keeping an eye out on the surroundings as he works.
A pair of reptilian eyes watch the riders’ approach from the near side of the bridge. Two are unfamiliar, but the third one is known to the owner of those eyes.
An owner who perches atop a low, weather-worn stone to one side of the bridge corner, gnawing idly on a stick of hard cinnamon. And it isn’t just the eyes that are inhuman. The creature seated there resembles a lizardman of sorts, albeit one grown taller and leaner than is typical of the swamp-dwelling race, its tail somewhat shorter and its snout somewhat more pronounced.
The reptilian figure slips the cinnamon stick back into his pouch and rises to his feet, stretching slightly as the riders draw near. He had travelled light as was his custom. His greenish skin tone presentes quite a contrast to the mail shirt and light plate bracers, greaves, and helm that he wears, all of them styled to suit his unusual frame. A sword, whip, and second pouch accompany the aforementioned one upon his belt, and a bow and quiver are slung from the pack that rests within easy reach.
“Two tendays, you said,” he announces by way of greeting, “And here I am. One of many you asked, I think, but we shall see how many have come.”