Harb Half-Elf Paladin
Harb enjoys the stories for the most part. Exaggerated stories were he fondest memories.
After the Sisters story, at Lals instruction, hestares into the tankard he has been nursing as he swirls the brown liquid around, lost in thought. Each wave of liquid swirling around in the cup seeming to wash away the face he sees in it only to replace it with another. He takes a sip, sets the tankard down and takes a deep breath. He looks to Lal and nods. "I do like the darker ales. More flavor than the light ones I say." He forces a smile and looks to the center of the room for the next story hoping it's more jovial.
Thankful for the laugh the story about the Dwarf and the barmaid gives him he smiles genuinely and leans towards Lal slightly to be heard over the crowd. He was thankful for this strangers company and genuinely liked him.
"One of the camps I was in, there was a horribly ugly camp follower. A drunken pikeman refused her first advance. Saying that she were far to ugly for the price she was asking. She told him she was only asking so much because the gold would need to make it worth her time, because she was sure his performance wouldn't"
Harb told his story to the table but had no interest in being the center of attention, Watching Flint's performance as he approaches the latest storytellers table he then scanned the room, his mood bright, seeming to feed off the lighthearted atmosphere.
A battle raging inside him. He longed for the days when relaxing wasn't so much work.