Industrygothica's "Those Left Behind" [IC]

[Leif]

Uulark Simental

"Caerwyn, what do you think about us buying a round of drinks for these weary souls. We both know what it is like to stare down death down the edge of a weapon," says the very narrow fellow sporting the holy symbol of Olidammara. His build and brown hair are very non-descript, but his eyes are quite bright and piercing. The weapon in question for Uulark is a longspear.

 

[Friadoc]

"But of course, Ms. Tanith," says Friadoc with a shrug. "Although I enjoy living dearly, I see no reason to fear dying, as it is but a step onto the next path of adventure."

"Of course, I'd prefer to join that party at a much later date," adds the halfling with a grin and chuckle. "I definitely need to look into extended protections though, at least that won't interfer with my training."

 

[Scotley]

Rogash

"I am beginning to suspect I haven't done my job as protector now. I shall redouble my efforts to defend your diminutive form my friend."

OOC: I am unsure if the newcomer spoke within our hearing so I did not respond.

 

[Leif]

Uulark Simental

OOC: Actually, it wasn't my intention to make a big scene about this, so it was probably not said where you could hear it.

 

[Nac Mac Feegle]

"Aye, that we do - though you might a little less if you picked up a proper weapon rather'n that little darning needle you insist on carryin' so proudly." From the tone of voice it sounds like this is the start of an argument that's been run over many times. The thin man's position on the 'size of swords' debate is rather clearly indicated by the massive claymore slung over the back of his chair. Cutting off any incipient debate, Caerwyn raises his voice and calls over to the bar. "Innkeeper, a round for the smelly gentlemen who just came in."

 

[Leif]

Uulark Simental

"You will please excuse my well-intentioned friend, I trust. He is long on heart if short on tact." So saying, Uulark nods at Caerwyn, with an unspoken request to help Uulark to push their table adjacent to the table of the intrepid adventurers.

 

[Scotley]

Rogash

Never one to turn down a free drink, Rogash welcomes the newcomers. Looking to Caerwyn the dwarf comments, "You have an aversion to the smell of soap and hair oil? You should have been with us earlier today." The dwarf's appearance is somewhat unusual in keeping with his nature. He is tall and slender as dwarves go. His sharp eyes are emerald green. His beard is coal black and bushy with a tendency to stick out as well as down though for now it is quite neat. He wears his dark hair in elaborate braids the ends wrapped in purple cloth held by gold wire. He wears a white robe that is a bit too long for him at present. A waraxe hangs on the back of his chair with a stout oaken handle and gleaming head. On the back of his right hand is a gray tattoo of a wavy hafted spear with a broad head. His greeting is loud and he slaps the newcomers on the back. "Rogash Ungart," he anounces.

 

[Leif]

Uulark Simental

"Greetings, Rogash. I am Uulark Simental, and allow me to present my friend Caerwyn. Our other friend, Talashia, should be joining us momentarily. When she enters the room, I guarantee that all will notice. Let's just say that the force of her personality draws attention like magnetite draws iron filings."

 

[Nac Mac Feegle]

"Now don't get me wrong, lad, I've got no attachment to a life of baths, but you smell like you've been wadin' through a river of sh*t," says Caerwyn good-naturedly. "The name's Caerwyn Thingol, knight of Kord for what that's worth."

 

[Friadoc]

"You did just fine, my friend," says Friadoc to Rogash, before his attention is pulled elsewhere. "I am just adept at finding depths that are just over my head, that is all."

The last part is said with a chuckle, as the sincere halfling tries to alleviate any self-admonishment of his companion.

Friadoc is dressed in the simple clothing of a monk, a brown vest worn upon his torso, showing his muscled arms and umber hue skin, with a green sash about the waist of his tan slacks that are tucked into a pair of black boots. His gray0green cloak is pushed back on his shoulders.

"Well met," says Friadoc with a chuckle at the comments made. "Waded, drown, tossed."

"Friadoc of Chat'An," says Friadoc, as way of introduction.