Before Sol could even open his mouth, Elder Thorne pushed his massive frame to the front of the crowd, his Vulture-feather cloak rustling. He looked Sol up and down, his eyes lingering mockingly on the human's ragged clothes and empty hands. A condescending, highly theatrical smile of false sympathy spread across Thorne's face.
"It's okay, 'Divine' One," Thorne spoke, especially punctuating the word 'Divine', his voice booming across the silent square, so that every single tribesman could hear his pity. "The Great Orrath is unforgiving to those who walk it alone and your lack of experience is not a crime.
If you didn't manage to get one, there is no shame in retreating with your life. You can always select from some of the lesser Omen-Blood beasts our hunting parties have stored away. We will not let you go without an anchor, andIt's safer that way."
