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Sol shrugs and sighs. These are definently not professionals. This job probably isen't his time, and its likely to get him killed. He'll head back to Yosemite and start again. Sometimes a Ronin and afford to have standards. He strides back into the wasteland, whistling in between bites of...

Sol shrugs. "I could give you some tips. Not the first time. And some of the good merchants told me you were picking up mercs. Although I would like to know what you're planning first."

Sol watches the man run away with faint curiosity and takes anouther bite. Hearing the lady's voice, he turns back and steps closer. He calmly wipes his mouth and bows courteously. "I was wondering," he inquires deliberatly, "if you have any positions open. My sword is for hire."

Up early as usual, Sol strolls nonchalantly through the caravan encampment. He sidles up to a rough looking ghoul cook and with a few quick words barters a packet of smokes for a bowl of dog guts and rice. He nods to him, grinning. "Always trust the dead!" He spies the bossy woman arguing...

Sol put his hands in the air again and back away, bowing as he does so. He turns and strides off into the darkness whisltling "A Horse with No Name."

Thank you ma'am. I'll lie low a little while.

Sorry to but in, ma'am; i'll be gone if you like Name: Sol Age: 23 Gender: Male Race: Unknown Mutant Occupation: Ronin Appearance: Lanky, pale, mottled skin, sticky fingers, no visible eyes. Clothing: Leather breastplate, black, embroidered shorts, sandals...

Fuck that. Sol scratches his bald scalp nonchalantly and ignores the barb about his ancestors. "And where might I find this lady?"

Sol sighs and nods wearily to Yasmin. "I have nothing to hide. I never thought too much about what I am, everyone is the same where I come from. In the old country, some called us Yokai as they drove us out. And these were the weapons I was trained in; I only use firearms when I need to...

Sol glares at David and clenches his fists, but his voice barely waivers. "I am a man. Are you?"

Sol grins lazily and nods. "M'lady, Sol at your service. I am a lordless soldier from the norht. Might I entreat upon your company?" He glances around and looks at Carib.

He exclaims in a dramatic voice, "I come... in peace. I am Sol. From North, Ft. Nelson. And you gentlemen...?"

A thin whistle builds pace from the night. Sol strides confidently up to the cabin, and raises both empty palms to Carib and Brad.

What could I use this fella for? Name: Sol Age: 23 Gender: Male Race: Unknown Mutant Occupation: Ronin Appearance: Lanky, pale, mottled skin, sticky fingers, no visible eyes. Clothing: Leather breastplate, black, embroidered shorts, sandals. Equipment: Quarterstaff...