Fid Watcher

The bard approaches one of the downed pirates, intentionally avoiding watching the slaughter his rescuers were bringing to the remaining captors. It's not that he was squeamish, he had just had his fill of violence and death these past days. It seemed like an eternity since their ship had crashed and right now the bard just wanted to feel the security of his arms and armor again before facing whatever else awaited him on this forsaken land.

He busies himself stripping the pirate of his own armor and belts on his trusty shortsword. He hefts his crossbow and tests its string, still wound taut and dry despite the tribulations. Satisfied, Fid turns to his companions and sketches a bow that would not be out of place in a highborn manor. My thanks once again for your alacritous aid, my friends. I would just as likely have been their, or some other beast's, meal without you coming along. I daresay we know each other, do we not? We are all worse for wear, but we were all not long ago fellows aboard the same ship, no? I simply must hear the tale of how you came to rescue me.