Possum leads the group into the dark room in the back. There, hunched over the desk, squinting at a rune-covered parchment, is presumably Scrate.
He is a skinny man, with sallow skin, sunken eyes, and long, limp black hair. Perched on his long, slender crow's beak of a nose grip a pair of pince-nez. Softly pointed tips to his ears poking through his greasy curtain of a mane belie his elven heritage.
Scrate looks up from his desk.
"Ah, good, everyone, welcome. Please, do take a seat. I have heard that you have a most interesting map. Something.... puzzling. One might even call it... insane. I myself take pride in being able to decipher such documents, and I'm positive I could do the same for you. Please, do you have any questions?"