214
You focus your power on a small pile of rocks lying at the edge of an outcrop which overhangs the boulder. The vibrations that you set up dislodge the rocks and make them cascade onto the boulder beneath. Suddenly, there is a cry of alarm and a man springs up from behind the boulder, shielding his head with both arms as he scurries out in the open to avoid the deluge. He is a grey-bearded man, clad in furs and armed with an expensive-looking crossbow which is slung by a leather strap around his shoulder. By his looks you judge him to be a hunter, not a brigand.
Coughing and spitting dust, he wipes his face with his hairy hands then turns to look in your direction. You sense that he is about to reach for his crossbow, but when you raise your hand in a show of friendship, he pauses and narrows his eyes, as if he is trying to get a clearer look at you.
‘You’re no Vakovarian,’ he muses. ‘No, by thunder, you look like a Sommlending to me.’
Chuckling under his breath, he makes his way down the slope and comes walking towards you with a broad smile on his weather-beaten face.
