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DialogueEdit

  • Hoardstalker: Are you sure we can stop, naabe? Aren't there creatures about?

Conversation 1Edit

  • Player: You're a little timid for a gorajo, aren't you?
  • Hoardstalker: Naabe, a hoardstalker has little or no experience of combat. I am told that I fight like a cat on hind legs.
  • Player: Don't worry, I have your back.
    • Hoardstalker: Not just my back, I hope. I find a foe more terrifying when they run at me from the front. Although we do not die in our spirit form, we must rest for a week due to our spirit wounds, so others would have to perform my role for me. They would be like a woodpecket attempting to feed from a tortoise. Id[sic] come back to find the crops irrigated with milk, weapons dipped in water, and babies drinking poison. Churra, it is too terrible to think on.
  • Player: Then what use are you?
    • Hoardstalker: Churra! You have a closed mind on those shoulders. I may not be a towering bloodrager or a graceful deathslinger, but I can be useful where they cannot. Let me scavenge in these ruins, naabe. I will bring you such items that you would never question my place here.

Conversation 2Edit

  • Player: Do you like it in Daemonheim? I can't imagine how anyone could.
  • Hoardstalker: I see this place in a way that you do not, naabe. It amazes me how something can go down so deep, yet still be strong and broad. I cannot help but applaud the mind behind these dungeons. The workmanship, too...it makes me want to put down my tools and reincarnate as a bloodrager. I feel like a sparrowhawk who has been chased off his kill by a dragon.
  • Player: But this place is evil, and thousands died building it. I doubt you've murdered anyone to make a dagger, you know.
    • Hoardstalker: And that is some comfort. I feel I must be careful about what I learn and study on this plane. There are poisoned thorns among the flowering wonders.
  • Player: I'm sure you could do better.
    • Hoardstalker: Ha! Indeed, in places it seems rushed, like they were working to some grand deadline. Give me a hundred lifetimes, an army of gorajo and a skinweaver to gouge out my conscience: that may be enough to better this work.

Conversation 3Edit

  • Player: Why are you called a hoardstalker? It seems a strange choice for a...blacksmith and scavenger, I guess.
  • Hoardstalker: We are not just required to make the tools of our clansmen, naabe, We must protect the tools from those who would take them.
  • Player: Who would steal tools from you? I got the impression that the gorajo were the only intelligent race on your plane.
    • Hoardstalker: Yes and no, naabe. We gorajo are often plagued by the ramokee: gorajo who have been exiled from the clans. These ramokee live outside of the clan fringes. They do not specialise as we do, and often have a harder time surviving in the wildlands among the sinkholes and wolfloks. So, they come to steal from our hoards, to benefit from our hard work. It is regrettable that we cannot all be gorajo.
  • Player: Still, hoardstalker is a silly name.
    • Hoardstalker: Naabe, I have held this back from you until now, but the term <Player's name>, in our tongue, means 'One-Who-Juggles-Piglets'. A less-mature gorajo would find that amusing.

Conversation 4Edit

  • Player: I don't have any more questions.
  • Hoardstalker: No problem, naabe. Just make sure nothing sneaks past and hurts me.

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