A Sign

Jorrik eyed up Balar as he walked forwards. He was a warrior all right - the way he held himself, seemingly casual but to a trained eye the ready combat stance was obvious. His eyes settled on the amulet around his neck, and the runes that danced around them in a neat circle. This many runes, in one day... This had to be a sign of some kind.

"Well, sir," he began, scratching his beard. "I could certainly put in a good word for you." He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. "However, in return I ask of you a favour. I grow weary of these Legionnaires. They promised me gold and glory yet all we have done for nearly a week is harass people such as yourself. Let me come with you. Another sword and shield can't hurt, can it?" He stuck out his hand.