The depths of night had a way of striking fear into many of the bravest souls alive. Something about the blackness and the eerie feeling that came with it could unnerve giants and make orcs cower in their holes. It was not so for Sorin though. He had lived a more adventurous life than many that were alive today, and over the course of time, he had forgotten what fear felt like.

The Prince had thrown himself at death many times before; fear was a foreign thing to him.

He crept from shadow to shadow, moving between the small buildings of the village as silent as death. When Sorin got close enough to hear the voices clearly and discern what they were saying, he waited with his spear at the ready, intent on scouting out the territory and finding out who in the Hells would be having a conversation at such a late hour.

Quandanlore, Callanthorith

The olderman was obviously intoxicated to the point he could not even balance himself while standing still. As he fell over into Cayrn's arms, Jaminon began to mumble about coins. There was no way he would be able to make it home safe, thus there was no other choice. Putting his arm around Jaminons back, Cayrn braced the old man and stood up, bearing most of the weight on himself.

"Come now Jaminon, its time to get you home and to bed."

Taking one step at a time, Cayrn was now the human crutch for the weathly merchant, making sure that he was able to make it home safe and in once piece without being robbed, mugged, killed, or falling asleep in a gutter.

"I'm afraid I can't shake your hand," replied the queer fellow, "My wrist stitches can be quite fragile, and you're a big lad..." Truly, this one was an odd one. Sorin silently observed from the shadows, taking in these three, and noting their unique characteristics. One was clearly a Knight, what with his horse and all, another seemed to be some sort of druid........and then the strange, stiched one. Sorin had heard him say that he had been a necromancer......which automatically made him extremely dangerous, no matter what his physical appearance was. Sorin realized that while on his guard as he was, he looked very imposing, and was likely making these three very anxious.

He said nothing, just continued to advance, though he did let his guard down, or so it seemed. So skilled was he with his weapons that even when he walked casually he could explode into his dance of death at a moment's notice.

The Prince still wondered why these three were out so late, but he made no move to ask. He had no business here with them........or did he? Did he really even have business in Manrenthain? He was a Prince with out a kingdom, doomed to wander the world. Would going to the City of Men really even make a difference?

As he pondered these questions, he raised a cautious hand and continued on straight toward them, still anticipating an attack. Years in the wilds of the world had taught him never to trust anything or anyone strange. He would wait and let them have the first word and first action.