Arnold White
Still, he had yet to actually interact with anyone and didn't really care at this point who died and who lived so long as he made it back with a scroll, or map, or whatever they were supposed to be acquiring. He'd probably know it when he would see it. Now, for the weapon. Extending his arm out, a shadowy silhouette of the scythe he used for reaping began to grow and soon, the dark matter faded away and left a simple silvery glinting scythe in it's place. Madrick, he liked to call it. Because it drove him mad, get it?
Arnold followed slowly behind the others, his scythe held in semi-relaxed way that would also leave it in a battle stance if swung the right way. It must have looked funny, this meek looking boy dressed in loose khakis and a sweater vest holding this giant metal scythe. Nobody every believed he was a Grim Reaper. It was almost funny. Shimmering images could be seen here and there, souls that had not quite yet moved on, but it was something he was used to. Most of the time, they proved to be better company than humans anyway.
It wasn't long before he heard the first monster approaching. Well, here goes nothing.