As the night wears on, people start to leave. After a while the fellowship are the only ones left. The innkeeper has started to clean up in the vain hope that this subtle hint might convince them to go to bed. Resisting his futile attempts, Raven threw another log on the fire and is currently easing in front of the fireplacen sitting next to nurthk and shavah. He has passed the acute stage of drunkenness and is currently nursing his ale, enjoying the warm glow of the fireplace and puffing his pipe. The conversation waxes and wanes, as people start the process of becoming friends, by sharing tales of past experiences. trying to get to know each other, their background, the reasons of why they're doing the things they do,accompagnied by the sweet music of niccolo as the little gnome plays for his own amusement, to entertain himself and his friends , and not to please a big crowd, pausing only to have a drink or to relight his pipe.
As the conversation turns to their respective youths, Raven takes a deep draught from his pipe and starts telling about his homeland, the highlands of the north. As the tale progresses his accent, wich is fairly vague most of the time, grows thicker and thicker as his eyes take on a faraway look. He tells of his mountain glade, where he lived with his brother, who had a small farm. From an early age on it was clear that he wsn't fit for a farmers live, and loved to roam the wild hills and mountains, and the deep forests. He talks of the majestic stags in the woods, the pure mountain streams, the splendid outdoors with pride in his voice. His brother inherited the small farm when their father died. and married the daughter of the clanchief. Raven stayed with them whenever he came back from his hunting and trapping, supplementing their income by selling the pelts. He speaks of the happiness of his brother when a son was born, and how he learned him to hunt, the pranks they pulled, and the misschief only a bachelor uncle can teach a nephew. The pride and love in his voice when he talks about the boy is crystal clear. Only those that remain a bit more sober hear the anguish of loss in his voice, and note that he speaks in the past tense only. After that, he stops talking, lost in tought, and gives a sign for the next to continue the tales.
OOC : this is both a bump and an invitation to those that feel called to tell a bit 'bout their character, it seems both we and our characters have a bit of time to kill.