The picturesque village of Meadowhaven, nestled amidst endless stretches of bountiful farmlands, is a vision of rustic charm. Situated within the embrace of a vast, rolling valley, it radiates an idyllic serenity and peace. A small, crystal-clear river roams gracefully along the village’s western border, its soft murmur adding to the peaceful ambience.  

As you approach the village along the main road, the landscape evolves into a captivating sight of vibrant, swaying crops. The golden wheat fields rustle in the breeze, while verdant orchards and vegetable gardens sprawl beside charming cottages with thatched roofs. Contented sheep graze upon the tender grass, while their playful lambs frolic nearby.

At the heart of Meadowhaven, several structures gather together, forming the lively centre of the village. An aged well, its stone worn smooth by generations of hands, stands as a sentinel of communal gatherings. Beside it, a modest noticeboard invites passersby to peruse the latest quests and bounties sought by the villagers, an enticing offer for wandering adventurers. Here, the tight-knit community often congregates, sharing news, laughter, and the bonds of camaraderie.

Nearby, there is the marketplace, where the farmers and artisans proudly display their wares. Freshly harvested produce, handcrafted goods, fragrant flowers and herbs cover the stalls, offering a rich choice to those, seeking a taste of Meadowhaven’s abundance. 

Mouth-watering scents of wheat ale, hearty meals and fresh pastries waft from the nearby tavern, a warm and welcoming haven for weary travellers and locals alike. 

Finally, the temple dedicated to Chauntea, the Goddess of Agriculture and Life, stands as both a spiritual sanctuary and a celebration of the village's deep connection to the land. Its garden, meticulously tended to, blooms with an array of rich blossoms, embodying the promise of fruitful harvests and abundant life. The temple is a place where Meadowhaven's people gather to offer their gratitude, seek solace, and renew their bonds with the earth that sustains them.

Meadowhaven is a place where life unfolds at a gentle, unhurried pace, where the beauty of nature, the warmth of community, and the blessings of Chauntea's grace converge to create a haven of peace.

It is just after dawn and the village centre is busy with activity. Traders deftly set up stalls, villagers go about their daily routines, greeting each other with warm smiles and nods of familiarity, and children laugh and run around while the smell of freshly baked bread drifts from the tavern. A few village guards stand close by, their vigilant eyes and hushed conversations the only hint at matters beyond the tranquil surface of the morning.

It is in the midst of this picturesque setting that you find yourselves. The village of Meadowhaven welcomes you with open arms, each of you with your own story, purpose, and destiny, ready to unfold in this corner of the world.

[Welcome to Meadowhaven, adventurers. Begin your tale by describing your character's appearance and the reason that brought you to this charming village on this particular morning.]

Looking at the village, you’d be surprised to learn that trouble was brewing there. This peaceful community looked completely unbothered by the issues of the larger world. At least, that’s how it looked for Preston.

The young man had short dark hair and hazel-colored eyes. His clean-shaved beard made him look a bit younger than he actually is. The sound of mail shaking marked each step that the soldier took, and the modest looking grey travelling cloak that rested on his wide shoulders fluttered gently in the wind. On of his gloved hand rested on the hilt of a sheathed sword at his side. Another weapon, larger in size rested on his back, which he held the strap with his other hand.

Preston had a strange feeling as he made his way into Meadowhaven. He hadn’t been here in what felt like ages, yet he felt a sense of familiarity. After all, this was where he was born. Would anyone remember him? Would he remember anyone? Or anything? Those questions lingered in his mind. 

Seeing the villagers go about their day and the children run around the centre did bring back certain memories, though a bit hazy. It still made the man smile. Nevertheless, he was here on a purpose, a mission. He needed information. Perhaps the guards could bring him up to speed regarding the disappearance and the investigation they’ve done so far.

Preston approached a nearby group of guards. "Good morning, gentlemen. Sorry for disturbing you. I was wondering if I could take a moment of your time to ask you a few questions."

Dracor trudged down the road the towards the town of Meadowhaven. His aching feet throbbed with every step and sight of the town meant hot food, a warm bed, and a much needed bath. As the gold and silver scaled dragonborn moved closer he would stop and take a deep breath through his nostrils. Standing up tall with his face to the sky, the smell of cooking meat would fill his nostrils while the sun danced and glittered across his scales. 

The young dragonborn stood a little more than 6ft tall with a mix seemingly polished golden and silver scales. An expensive looking fur-lined cloak hung across his shoulders, mostly concealing a small bag of coins and an ornate longsword sheathed on his belt. Around his neck an orb filled with red and white twisting smoke hangs from a fine chain and rests against his fine clothes. The well dressed dragonborn nobleman stood out in the crowd of common villagers and he decided what to do next.

Dracor had never been to Meadowhaven before. He had never really been anywhere outside of Baldur's Gate prior to the fire.  As he pondered his next move, a growl from his stomach and the smell of meat would lead him towards the marketplace. "Uhh, Yes! You there!" He would say as he leaned against to market stall, snapping his clawed fingers impatiently towards the vendor. "I'll take two of your finest... uhhh... whatever you're selling. I'm starving!" He would command as he gestured towards some kind of meat kabobs turning over an open flame. 

**Picture of Dracor**

The Red Dragonborn trudges over one of the well trodden roads leading into Meadowhaven, his tired looking Snowy-White Draconic eyes taking in the sight of the village as he steps into town proper. "There we are... Now we're getting somewhere." He mumbles out in his rough voice to no one in particular as he makes for the Marketplace first thing. 

Wulcrath rolls his broad shoulders and lets out a tired little huff as his battered looking old boots hit the stone of the Market. What Remains of his tattered old cloak hanging loosely around his neck over his Tunic,  It's more of a scarf than anything else at this point. His scaled rough face sports a contemplative frown as he looks out over the crowd in the markets. Standing at nearly 6'5, at least he can see where he's going through the hustle and bustle well enough and his large frame should allow him to push past anyone if he needs to. His rusty shield hangs off his pack from his back, and one of his gloved hand rests on the scabbard at his left hip. The Big Dragonborn looks fully the part of Vagabond...

He finds a wall near one of the stalls, and leans against it, taking a moment to himself to think about what might be next for him. His eyes are closed in contemplation, his arms wrapped around himself.as he thinks. 

A young dwarven woman walks into Meadowhaven slowly, looking around with a purposeful gaze. Ella doesn’t know why she’s here, but she knows she’s been guided by her goddess. She watches for signs from her, and she follows them, and the signs have brought her to this town.

Ella is short and stocky, as is typical for dwarves, with warm brown skin, long, dark curls, and hazel eyes. She wears chainmail armor, a bit dirty but otherwise in good condition, and a pristine amulet with what appears to be a burning needle on it. She carries a shield, a mace, and a visibly full satchel.

This sort of place is new territory for her. Places outside of the temple in general are new for her. Ella is out of her element, and it shows. She settles on entering the tavern, figuring it can’t be that different from dwarven taverns. Approaching the counter, she asks the barkeep, “What’s the news around here?”

The three guards turn to face Preston. Worn light leather armour, sturdy boots, and helmets adorned with the village's emblem define their appearance. The two younger guys, probably around the same age as Preston himself, are armed with hefty bludgeons. The third one, a rugged man in his forties sporting a wild tangle of unruly eyebrows and greying hair, carries a well-worn sword at his side. It is this man who looks at the paladin with an appraising eye, taking in Preston’s soldierly appearance.

“Morning to you, young man,” he states with authority, his voice resonating with respect and unmistakable curiosity. “What brings you to Meadowhaven today?” 

The vendor, a short chubby man with a friendly disposition, grins at the sight of the dragonborn nobleman in front of his stall. The villagers around them also cast curious glances at Dracor’s finely dressed and regal demeanour. While travellers do happen to visit Meadowhaven, it is clear that nobility is a rare sight, his presence has certainly stirred interest around them.

“Of course, noble sir! Two of our finest meat skewers coming right up,” the man replies eagerly.

He skillfully retrieves two juicy-looking kabobs, each made of various seasoned meats and vegetables, and places them on a wooden platter. The sizzle of the cooking meat and the mouthwatering scent only intensify as he hands the food to Dracor. 

“Here you go, sir! Mind the steam, they are quite hot! ” 

As Wulcrath leans against the wall and takes a moment to contemplate his next steps in Meadowhaven, he feels the gentle warmth of the morning sun on his scales. The villagers around him go about their daily business, casting occasional curious glances at the imposing dragonborn. Although travellers are not an uncommon sight, his weathered appearance and the air of contemplation that surrounds his tall frame seem to capture their interest.

While Wulcrath stands there, lost in thought, he can’t help but notice another dragonborn talking with a trader from a nearby stall. This dragonborn has a mix of golden and silver scales and is dressed in fine attire, a striking contrast to Wulcrath’s appearance. Their conversation appears to be friendly, and it seems that this newcomer has also drawn the attention of the villagers.

In the background of this scene, something else catches his eye. Amidst the morning activity of the marketplace, a woman stands out, her hair hanging in disarray, her clothes drab and unkempt. Her shoulders slump under the weight of an invisible burden, and her eyes look empty and hollow. This woman appears to be lost in a world of her own, not paying any attention to the life around her. The rest of the villagers seem to ignore her.

The barkeep, a portly man with a ruddy complexion and a well-worn apron, furrows his brow in thought for a moment, then leans in a bit closer to Ella, his eyes filled with curiosity and interest, speaking in a hushed tone.

"Well, lass," he begins, "if ye be lookin' fer news that's not so common 'round these parts, there's been quite the stir 'bout old Farmer Hal. He's been missin' for a few days now, and it's got the whole village in a right state o' worry, it does. No one quite knows what happened to him, ya see."

As he speaks, the mood in the tavern has shifted slightly. The conversations around Ella have quieted, and there's a sense of unease in the air as the villagers exchange glances and murmur to one another. It's evident that Farmer Hal's disappearance is a topic of concern among the locals.

“Ye be one o' them adventurers, then?” The barkeep asks her, his tone a mix of curiosity and hope, as if he's eager to hear more about her and why she's inquiring about the news.

Ella opens her mouth, then pauses, and makes a “so-so” gesture. “Something like that,” she says, running a hand over her amulet. “I’m here to help, in whatever way I can. Does anyone know, well, anything about what happened? Even if it’s very little?”

Dracor's mouth would water as he takes in the sight and smell of the freshly cooked meat. Without hesitation he would quickly take the platter and grasp one of the kabobs. Undeterred by the billowing steam, he would quickly begin biting and chewing the hot meat. Greasy juices would roll down his scaled chin and drip down to the wooden tray holding the second kabob. "Oh yes, very good, very hot indeed... very hot!" The dragonborn would exclaim with a mouthful of food, sending tiny meat flakes flying out from his toothy maw. In a moment the first kabob is gone and Dracor seems to take a step back from the wooden tray. "I... apologize for my manners... It has been some time since I have had a proper meal" He would declare before quickly moving his clawed fingers and saying a few words in draconic. In an instant the second kabob immediately stops billowing steam as he casts Prestidigitation. After cooling the remainder of his meal he would repeat the process a few more times to clean the meat juices from his face, clothes, and the tray. He would even be sure to magically remove any of the meat flakes he spit onto the vender and counter before giving the short chubby man a small nod. 

Seeming to notice the eyes on him,  he would pick up the second kabob and give the vendor another nod before flipping him a silver coin as a "tip" and walking away. Trying hard to act proper he would stand up straight and begin taking much smaller and more dignified bites from the second kabob as he made his way through the rest of the market. While strolling past the vendors he would casually cast dancing lights, sending gold four gold and silver glowing orbs up onto the air a few inches above the dragonborn. The orbs would slowly dance and follow the dragonborn, occasionally dropping down to circle a small child or swirling around any townsfolk that seem to be enjoying the dragonborns presence. 

Although the dragonborn loved the attention, he was trying very hard to hide it... walking as though he had a purpose even though he had no where to be and trying not to acknowledge the townsfolk he was actively circling with his orbs. 

Dracor was keeping an eye open looking for anything of interest and if he happened to notice anyone in distress or another dragonborn he would begin to casually make his way towards them... (Perception: 3)

Preston adjusts himself in front of the veteran and clears his throat. 
"Word as traveled about the disappearance of one of the residents of your town. A certain 'Farmer Hal'? I wish to help find him in any way possible. Is there someone that can help me get up to speed on the state of the investigation or point me in the right direction?"

Wulcrath's attention seems just as caught up on the Gold and Silver Dragonborn's as many of the villagers. He almost looked like royalty with his Gold and Silver trimmed scales, walking around in his fine clothes, fur cloak, and carrying that Impressive looking Longsword around. Well... at least his clothes did  make him look the part of Royalty until, um... w-wait a second? "U-uhh...?" He gawks along with the townspeople just a bit longer as the Royal Dragonborn makes a mess of himself, and then blinks a bit as he cleans himself up with some kind of magic, and starts his little light show as if it never happened. Oookay! Looks like none of his business. That for sure adds a few more thoughts to get lost in if nothing else.

Shaking his head a bit to release himself from his mild stupor, The Red Dragonborn takes note of the almost Ghostly Woman, turning his attention to her. Seemingly stuck out of time and nonexistent to the villagers surrounding her. She looks like she needs help... has no one checked in on her yet? He frowns to himself as he gently pushes of the wall and makes his way toward her, taking care to not bowl anyone over as he navigates the traffic of the busy Market. He doesn't exactly have a lot of time for anything that isn't finding work, but he certainly won't just leave this Woman to her misery. If he can help, he really oughta.

When he gets to her, he keeps his voice as friendly sounding as he can, and kneels down a bit to better get on her level. The Woman looks distressed, and he doesn't particularly feel like being the cause of more for her. "E-Excuse me Ma'am? Are you quite all right? Are you looking for someone?" He guesses softly, doing his best give her a little smile in the hopes it might put her at ease. 

Esben rarely visits Meadowheaven. While at first he wasn't welcome at all here, in the meanwhile the people have grown used to him and don't mind him that much. He somethimes visits to purchase some supplies or tries to sell foraged mushrooms or squirrel pelts and such.

Looking at him you could potentially see him as two people that blend into each other but could still be differenciated. Because of that he sometimes gets confused for others or people think they have seen him before but are unsure when, when in reality it was about 15 minutes ago. One of those visages it that of a human man, something between 50 and 60 years old, with tanned skin, leathery hands and gray hair. The other is the face of an Old elven man, proportionally even older with ears that over the time have become dull. Not the sense, the pointed shape, silly. Both of those people wear simple brown and green clothes with a heavy cloak. The hood is down while in the village. He carries himself through the town with the help of a staff on which he balances some of his weight. To the side he carries a sling bag with rope attached to it. It pobably contains a heap of pelts a bundle of firewood and leaves.

He approaches the settlement half humming, half whistling a melody. When the Townsguard prompts him the Half-elf answers The trees told me you have a situation with one of your farmers. And it just happens that i want to get rid of the birch bark i've collected.

The barkeep leans in a bit closer, looking at Ella's amulet as he listens. He nods slowly, as if contemplating her offer.

"Well, lass, we are always grateful for a helpin’ hand in times o’trouble," he replies. "An’ Farmer Hal's disappearance’s got us scratching our heads.He jest up an' vanished, like he melted into thin air."

He takes a moment to look around the tavern, making sure nobody can be eavesdropping. Then he continues in a hushed tone, "There’ve been whispers ‘bout strange happenings in them woods lately. Talk ‘bout a giant monster prowlin’ ‘bout at night. Some reckon it’s what took Farmer Hal. Others say he went in there himself. Only the gods know for sure, but it’s got folks mighty spooked."

Then the barkeep leans back and starts polishing some cups with a rag. "If you are lookin’ to lend a hand, lass, ya might want to have a word with Constable Alena. She's been tryin' to make sense o' it all. She oughta be around the market somewhere."

Whether intentional or not, Dracor’s presence seems to attract more and more attention. His indulgence in the freshly cooked meat is quite the spectacle, and some villagers even stop to watch with amused and curious glances as the dragonborn devours the kabob with gusto. The vendor, while initially taken aback by his client’s peculiar manners, seems pleased with Dracor’s enjoyment of his food and even more pleased with the received payment.

When the dragonborn proceeds to use Prestidigitation, the villagers’ curiosity grows even more. They start talking in hushed voices and chuckles about the dragonborn’s magical prowess, and this only seems to intensify as Dracor strolls around the market, followed by his dancing orbs. The children, especially, go crazy for his magic trick, forming a crowd around him, running in circles, tugging at his clothes, and screaming to get his attention. Girls bat their eyelashes at him, while women encourage their offspring to get even closer.

As the crowd surrounding him grows bigger, Dracor notices a woman nearby. She seems completely oblivious to his colourful performance and audience. In fact, she appears lost, like someone in some sort of shock or grief.

He also notices another dragonborn, much bigger than himself, slowly approaching the woman.

The veteran guard studies Preston for a moment, his eyes lingering on the Paladin’s armour and his sword. Then he nods solemnly.

“Aye, Farmer Hal’s disappearance has stirred up quite the commotion in Meadowhaven. We’re grateful for any assistance we can get. if that's what brings you here, you’d best speak to Constable Alena. She’s overseeing the investigation and might have more details.” 

Before another word, a shrill scream startles the trio and the guards hurry towards the place at the market where a small crowd has now gathered, leaving Preston behind.

From this close, it is clear that the woman is in some state of shock. She doesn’t register Wulcrath’s approach, nor does she respond to his comforting words. She stands there as if in a trance, her vacant eyes, swollen and puffy from tears, fixed on some point, far away in the distance. Her tangled dark hair falls unkempt around her shoulders, partially obscuring her pale face. She clutches her hands in front of her, her knuckles white from the intensity of her grip, and she occasionally mutters something under her breath.

Then, suddenly, she seemingly snaps back to reality. Her eyes focus on the red dragonborn for a brief moment, then widen with terror and her face contorts into a mask of sheer horror. She lets out an ear-piercing scream that echoes through the market as she attempts to step away, swaying left and right on her feet. Gasps and startled exclamations travel through the crowd as people turn to see what is happening. 

The woman points a trembling finger at Wulcrath and cries out, “Monster! You… You took him! You took my Hal!!!!!” Her whole body is shaking with fear as she gets increasingly frantic. 

The two guards stare at the half-elf for what feels like a full minute in a quiet stupor as they contemplate Esben’s words. It becomes quite evident that his message has gone over their heads, leaving them utterly dumbfounded. Finally, they exchange uncertain glances, one of them unconsciously scratching his neck, while the other clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure.

"Uhm… Hm… Sure. Sure, old man," one guard mutters, still trying to process Esben's words. He makes some more muffled sounds, apparently grappling with how to respond. "Hm… Mmm… You can sell your birch bark at the market. Hmmm… mmm… and talk to the farmers there. They’ve got stalls and stuff. Mmm. Hmpf.." 

Dracor would struggle to suppress a smile as he gained more and more attention from the townsfolk. Seeing the children rush towards him he would gently pat them on the head before giving their parents a small nod. Seeing the women bat their eyelashes he would flash them a small toothy grin and a quick wink. His teeth white teeth would sparkle almost as brightly as his  shimmering gold and silver scales in the sun. 

As the noble dragonborn soaked up the attention, the smile on his face would fade as he noticed the large dragonborn approaching the sad disheveled woman. 

When she starts screaming and calling him a monster, he would quickly step forward next to his large scaly brethren. "Hold on now! Hello.. My name is Dracor Shimmerscale... Everything is OK! He is no Monster... he is a dragonborn like me... just... a lot dirtier.. and stinkier... and bigger.. more intimidating really.. and well... hold on..." He would say say as he begins moving his fingers franticly... casting  Prestidigitation repeatedly, trying his best to clean up this large dragonborn unless the dragonborn tries to stop him.. "see, once you get all the dirt and some of the smell cleared away, he is perfectly presentable! Not a monster at all!" The dragonborn would say as though this was all just a misunderstanding. "If you'd like I can help clean you up as well... you look... well... you might feel better if we clean you up a bit..." Dracor would say as a mix of concern and displeasure spreads across his face. He is very carful not to actually touch the dirty dragonborn or woman as he attempts to clean them up and calm the situation....

Persuasion to convince the woman that Wulcrath isn't a monster... he would also attempt to HELP Wulcrath in any attempts to calm the woman 10

Preston nods as he’s being given information and a name. He notices the glances the veteran guard seems to be giving him. Maybe he recognized Preston’s status as a squire, or at the very least, a solider.

"I see. And where might I fin-", Preston begins saying before they are interrupted by the screams. The sudden disturbance makes him immediately turn his attention away from the guards. He turns back to look at them as they go off running to check out what’s going on.

Not a moment later, Preston makes way with haste to witness and possibly assist. He tries to make his way through the crowd, but can easily spot two Dragonborns towering over the rest of the townsfolk. He approaches the scene, weapon not drawn but at hand.

"What happened here?", he inquires in a commanding voice.

Well, despite his wants, it seems like The Red Dragonborn is indeed distressing this woman.  The Woman's scream and accusations make his heart skip a beat in his chest, and his smile quickly turns into a harsh frown. His silver eyes widen in surprise and dart over his surroundings as she accuses him. With a quick glance, he can see peoples stares, some guards approaching with an accusatory looking human man in tow, though he doesn't look as though he's a guard himself? It's all too much too quickly. 

Wulcrath opens his mouth to speak, to try and defend himself. And then, that Silver-Gold Dragonborn from earlier is right next to him, seemingly trying to cast one of those magical spells on him. It all causes the Red Dragonborn to flush hot with shame and surprise. If his cheeks could even get any redder. All that leaves Wulcrath's now agape mouth for a moment is confused, taken aback sputtering... (He doesn't look THAT bad does he...?)  Okay, first things first, smooth this over with the Woman, or this Red Scaled "Beast's" first night in town might be spent in Jail.  "N-now just hold on please!?" The larger Dragonborn left gloved hand instinctively tries to pull his tattered cloak over himself, to hide himself away a bit, but it's far past it's days of doing that for him.

"M-Ma'am, I-" Wulcrath eyes dart over to the smaller Dragonborn again. "W-WE. Are just trying to help you." He forces a smile back onto his face, looking back at the woman and trying to be patient and fix this before it gets ugly. Quiet voice, Kind words Wulcrath, you can do it... "Now please. Tell me what's wrong so I can help you. Y-your Son right? Who is he?" Wulcrath says softly, trying to calm her down,  reaching a gloved hand out to offer it to the woman as he kneels down on one knee. Persuasion with help from Dracor to soothe the distressed Woman: 25 

Not very familiar with the dice roller so, making another roll to feel out how it works. Cause I'm pretty sure I bungled it. 21

Ella nods as he speaks, eyes growing wide at the mention of a giant monster. "Lady of Mercy protect me," she murmurs to herself in Dwarvish. Addressing the barkeep again, she says, "Thank you for the information. I just hope I can do something to help."

She hops off the stool, leaving the tavern and heading for the marketplace...at which point she has no idea which of the numerous people here might be Constable Alena. She doesn't have much time to regret not getting more information, though, because her attention is quickly diverted by the sight of the small crowd gathering. Ella runs over to it, though she doesn't intervene yet.

The two dragonborn manage to calm the woman down somewhat, but her distress is far from over. She stops her screaming but still backs away from both of them, casting a petrified gaze from one to another. Her eyes well up and she shakes her head as if she can’t believe their words. 

When she hears Preston’s voice of authority, the woman immediately turns to him, pointing a trembling finger at the two dragonborn.

“It was them. They  took my husband!” Her voice trembles with fear and anguish, her words almost imperceptible. “They took my husband to the woods, gods know what they did to him there. And now they try to take me too!”

And then she breaks down in sobs.

The crowd's reaction is mixed. Some villagers shake their heads in disbelief, unable to fathom such accusations, while others shoot unwelcoming glares at the two dragonborn. After all, they are strangers in this village. Whispers ripple through the onlookers, with some speculating that Gerda has completely lost her grasp on reality.

"You two, identify yourselves!" A veteran guard demands. His hand rests on the hilt of a well-worn sword but no weapons are drawn and his stance is not aggressive.  

Ella has arrived just in time to witness the whole interaction. 

"Hold on, everyone just calm down" Dracor would say with a toothy smile as he raises both clawed hand high. "My name is Dracor Shimmerscale of the Baldur's Gate Shimmerscale Clan!" he would exclaim loudly as he wiggles a finger that holds a golden ring. The ring sparkles nearly as brightly as his scales. The ring is gold and gaudy with a silver inlay that depicts the Shimmerscale family crest. Those looking at him would notice this crest on the hilt of the ornate longsword hanging from his belt, and also on the necklace around his neck that holds his swirling orb. "This... woman.. is obviously unwell..." He would say a bit quieter as he shoots the woman a bit of a scowl before returning his gaze to the gaurds and giving them a smile once more... "I assure you that a Shimmerscale would never be found skulking around in the woods... let alone kidnapping farmers? Why would I do that? my family could hire 100 farmers if we needed them..." He would then pause and turn towards the much larger dragonborn next to him. "Besides... I have never met this fellow dragonborn before in my life... and although his appearance may not be as clean and polished as my own, I assume it is due to working hard.. and protecting others.. After all that is what we dragonborn do! Serve our community... and such and so forth, etcetera." He would say as he starts to trail off... looking around to see if anyone seems to believe him.

Persuasion again? if needed? 9

Wulcrath shoots the Dragonborn next to him a bit of a tired, frustrated glare, a hefty sigh escaping him. He KNOWS he's dirty he doesn't have to be told that again, and again! He reaches once more for the ruined cloak around his shoulders, as if it could somehow help him escape this situation. "Oh, for the love of... W-Wulcrath Vokrun Sir. " The Red Dragonborn is feeling a little outclassed here. He's never been the center of attention like this, and he has no title to lay claim to like the Silver-Gold Dragonborn next to him. Just the sword at his hip that's been at his side as he's tried to figure out where he belongs, and who he wants to be. If only his Father were here to speak for him...

"This Woman is clearly out of sorts!" He says, his tired eyes looking the guards and crowd over. "Regardless, I have just arrived in Meadowhaven. How could I possibly find time to kidnap this "Hal" she speaks of?" An annoyed Scowl has spread across his face. After days on the road, this is JUST what he needs...  He motions to Dracor, shaking his head a little. "As for... him. I Don't know of him, or a 'Shimmerscale Clan. "And regardless... This is proving to be a waste of my time."  He adds under his breath. The Dragonborn wishes he could help this Woman, but it doesn't appear that she wants it. 

Persuasion as well? 18