A Strange New Desert

Cailean leans back in his chair and hoists his a flagon of his own brewed stock of ale to his lips and takes a long drink of it. His well worn clothes somewhat clash with his Elvish boots, exceptional cloak, and well crafted bracers that peek out from under his work shirt. A dagger in both boots and a quarterstaff are his only visible weapons, but the smudge of manticore blood on the toe of his well made boots, and the specks that blend in with his own red hair are enough for the learned observer to know that he doesn't need a weapon to be deadly. With a quick glance at the bartender, he reaches into his finely crafted satchel and pulls out a small wooden barrel and several shot glasses. Pouring an amber looking liquid into each of the glasses he passes the shots to his companions. "Well now, since we finished the mission, gathered some coin, then a toast to a job well done... May you live as long as you want, and never want as long as you live." After drinking it down, he gathers up the barrel, the glasses, and stows them into his satchel. "So what's next?"

Baerkohm watches quietly, as he does anytime the group is around other people. He eats hurriedly, if a bit barbarically. His bald head gleams in the light inside The Hunter's Mark, his golden beard festooned with small bone totems and bits of cured sticks as decoration. His eyes, one deep brown the other the color of deep water ice in winter, observe everything, always finding ways out of his current position. A variety of small creature furs dangle from his belt. His stocky body is covered by a heavy robe featuring a dizzying array of patches with interesting little pictures. A heavy pack sits on the ground as he drinks his ale out of his own tankard. Though you've watched him put away the better part of almost 2 gallons of ale, he doesn't seem any worse for wear. The one item that never seems to leave his side is the gnarled and twisted staff that you've always known him to have. Though he bears a slight odor of the outdoors at all times, in the times you've traveled together, he's always had a keen sense of where you were and where you needed to be going. His ability to find food on the trail is unmatched and his restorative magics have always been very helpful.

When the messenger bursts in, he turns his attentions to the lad and quirks an eyebrow. I think we may find out Cailean, if you can pull yourself out of yer cups for a moment.

For his name being Quiet he is know to be very loud in social situations. GREAT STUFF CAILEAN! You never disappoint. Quiet's fur is a silky black with deep black eyes. His appearance is always clean, Quiet makes sure of that with his constant grooming even if it isn't the best time to do it. His leather armor matches his fur. Hidden beneath his armor lay a few daggers that are almost impossible to see. However he does carry a short bow on his back and a rapier hanging from his hip. Quiet is most at home out in the wild. Quiet tends to take off earlier or faster than everyone else in order to get information before returning back to let his companions know what he saw. His black fur and quiet paws are a great help when stalking prey. Quiet likes to keep his distance when fighting however his sharp claws come in handy when in hand to hand combat. He is also a bit knowledgeable in the ways of magic. His has know connections to some of the more shady parts of town thanks to his previous employment. He doesn't really talk about it much though unless asked, in which case he lets out almost every detail very loudly which often gets him in trouble.

Wulfram sits at the head of the table, which is customary at this point. His companions know Wulfram needs to feel like his is the most important member of the party. His full plate mail reflects the flickering of the fire and you can tell he has just recently polished and repaired any dents from the previous adventure. He must take great care in his armor to keep it smooth and shinny because you remember several times he took some serious hits from a monster.
Wulfram sits in the table straight and looks over his party with a slight bit of annoyance and a touch of disdain. He is not used to traveling with such a rag tag group, but he has eventually come to appreciate each as a traveling companion.
Wulfram appears to be deep in thought and if you were to watch him close enough you could almost see a design flicker on the table surface, but in another moment it is gone. Wulfram silently takes the cup offered by Cailean - this is not a normal thing to happen as Wulfram is usually always giving Cailean a hard time about his liquors - generally calling his wears 'goat piss not fit for peasants'.
He makes a non - approving sound when the big cat speaks up.

"Quite - why do you always shout...." Wulfram grumbles more to himself than anyone else.

As the messenger arrives Wulfram slams his fist onto the table generating a very load and unnatural sound. He stands up to face the messenger."You have come to speak to me, out with it then...." Wulfram awaits a response.

Cailean roles his eyes at Wulframs outburst and puts his feet up on the table and his hands behind his head, "Don't worry about the big shiny one there, his bark is much worse than his bite. What can we help ya with?"

Araaz Syl'a Var'ran is a half-elf monk/cleric. Bald except for a braided ponytail on the back of his head, he is a finely toned and muscular man dressed in monks robes. With his black smithing skills and adequate martial skills he is an acceptable member of this party. Sometimes he feels like Wulfram only tolerates him in order to keep his armor looking good, but for the most part he is likable. He is slow to trust others but when he does, he is one of the most loyal friends a body can have. He looks at Cailean in amusement as he drinks from his mug of ale. "Can you not see he's not in the mood Cail?"

Nilros sits off by himself drinking he scowls at Wulfram and thinks why are we not preparing for the next battle? We should be striking evil in the heart right now, instead of sitting around. Evil never rests why should we?

Nilros raises his glass to his compatriots and forces a slight grimace, which anyone could easily seen through

Cailean looks at his companion, "Raz, I understand that, but just cause he’s ina bad mood doesn’t mean that he needs to take it out on the messenger.. And Baerkohm," Cailean lets out a loud belch, "just cause I always drink, doesn’t mean I’m always drunk, it just means I’ve got a head start." Cailean turns back to the messenger. "So my good man, what can this intrepid group of rabble rousers do for ya, and more importantly who sent ya?"

Nilros quickly jumps up at the messengers request,
ay that is us? And if the likes of you are looking for us then shits really messed up then

"How dare you speak that name in that tone. You address us with more respect than that!" Wulfram gets up from the table and begins to make his way over to the man. You can tell he has a bit of a crazed look in his eye.

"Oh there he goes again," Cailean stands up and walks up beside Wulfram with a tankard in his hand. "So what kind of a man is this Duke of yours? What kind of a job is he offerin? Better yet, how big is his wine cellar?" He downs the tankard and looks at the messenger.

Baerkohm looks down at his well-worn clothing and lets out a belly laugh. Aye, this'll be rich. I ain't putting on any fancy soaps for yer Duke, ya hear? he grumbles slightly before standing up, leaning on his staff.

Well we best be going, and if you are all not willing to part with your drinks right at this time then you best be bringing them.
Nilros gets up and dons his black Armor.

"Might as well go now. Although Cail probably shouldn't do the talking... He may not be drunk, but he isn't completely sober either!" Araaz chuckles before draining the remainder of his ale and standing. He moves with a lithe grace, almost as smoothly as Quiet's feline form.