Headed North

Dorge stands on his tiptoes to try to see over the counter into the box on the other side. A less-than-human girl was carefully going through the contents of the box. His sword was not going to be in that box, was she even listening? We're talking about a sword here, child, can you spare me the friendly-service routine? He knows he's not supposed to use the phrase "less-than-human" anymore, but could never get behind the polished version "more than human". At what point is being, and he's only guessing here, a half elf more than human? Human with a little extra? She may just have a slight point to her ears and have some gluten problem. But he bet if he said "Nee'janni brupbrup" to her she'd know what was up.
She smiles and tells him that the sword he described to her does not appear to be in the lost-and-found box. He smiles and tells her he's going to salt the earth of her village. He smiles and thanks her for looking, yeah, that's the one he went with.
The last few days were filled with a lot of walking. Thankfully the weather hadn't been terrible and he had made a good pace despite feeling like seven hells. The worst of it was not knowing where he was or where he was going. The stars wouldn't be much help to him; he wasn't a sailor. So he just headed north, that much he could figure out. Eventually he found himself on a road with a stream not too far off. There had been a mapmaker, too, but Dorge didn't have any money. Which was just as well, as he'd find out in a few months that the mapmaker was bogus and would have only led him to certain death. X marks the spot where a band of brigands will descend upon you and take all your earthly possessions, including your pulse.
Now he was here, Banda Cate. At least that's what it sounded like in Common. The guards had only let him in because he could recognize the deity on the temple he could see from the road and told them he was on a pilgrimage. It was pretty flimsy everyone involved had to admit but apparently the guards feared upsetting the deity more than whatever vermin Dorge was clearly carrying with him. He had tried to wash up a little in the stream but that water wasn't mending his clothes or doing much at all at in the way of making him look less crazy.
He scratches his beard and wonders where else he could hopelessly look for Day Ruiner. Helluva thing to be warrior class and not have a weapon. Normally he would find the closest tavern and wait for a pack of adventurers to miraculously come to town and need his services. But those guys always had a warrior anyways and if not a warrior a barbarian. Good Christ he hated barbarians. He briefly thinks about changing classes and wonders what the lvl penalty would be, then figures Adver would enjoy this too much and decides against it. He wonders if he should ask the elf-girl if Adver's in the lost-and-found box.
He may just have to find an odd job on a bulletin board like a noob to make enough to at least have a weapon. The thought of this chafes his ass pretty bad, considering all the shit jobs he's already had to do, and how little xp they'll get him as a lvl 36. But what the hell else is he going to do when he's not even super sure what continent he's on.
He makes his way to the town hall he passed earlier to give the postings up on the board a look. He was going to have to stand there with a bunch of little kids and go Deliver Magic Scrolls or Gather Mooka Berries or some such shit to earn some silver to just have some something to eat. That's when he saw a quest that was a little more interesting.
Faded and torn was a handbill with the likeness of a hooded magic-user hastily scrawled onto it, and below: ADWER. WANNTED.