Alaric Saltzman

"Damn," Alaric mutters, bending down to gather the scattered weapons from his spilled pouch. He clenches his jaw as he pockets a silver dagger. "I should have emptied this before I went into the damn woods." He looks up, his eyes filled with suspicion, or maybe exhaustion. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to help?" The intensity in his voice suggests it's not just the pouch. Something darker lurks beneath. "Stefan is out there, and time is of the essence."