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[Ragnor Barakas]

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The seven foot barbarian struted through the streets. He no longer wore the colors of gold and black, just black. His hooded shroud-which could fit two of most people-hung down low, his hood covered most of his head. The wind blew fiercely as the storm was moving in from the sea.

What am I suppose ta do now? I finally decided ta settle in wit' an army, but tha' didn' work ou' ta well. I'm glad I was jus' a squire and nothin' importan'. There's sa much I had ta teach their soldiers once I gained rank. I was their bes', atleas' top two. *He nods to himself* I bea' their sherrif, I bea' their leutenen's. Bah! *Throwing his hands in the air* Perha's theres anothe' army or militia tha'll wan' me.

Ragnor arrived at the nearest Inn. He sat down and asked one of the bar maids to gather up a bunch of pieces of parchment. He grabbed a quill and began to write carefully on each piece of parchment.

Dear Readers;

I, Ragnor Barakos, have found myself without an army. I'm an extremely well able fighter. I use to bear the colors of Sanctus, but due to recent events I do not any longer.

I offer myself, my sword, and my muscle to any army or militia that is in need. Depending if I follow your beliefs, but none the less, contact me if ya need a strong an able soldier.

My pigeon's stall number is 282201710.

//signed//

Ragnor Barakos