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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ringmereth" data-source="post: 2397979" data-attributes="member: 33915">A dirty-looking man in unwashed robes sits at a simple wooden table in the Inn's common room. Beside him sits an equally messy pile of belongings. A backpack is at the base of the pile, and atop it is stacked a poorly-tied bundle of sheets and blankets, a slim, dangerous-looking crossbow, two small wooden cases, and the man's only clean possession-a weasel. Shaking his head to clear a lock of hair from his vision, he takes a spoonful of the establishment's watery soup, the cheapest item on their limited bill of fare. With a trace of frustration, he drops his spoon into his soup and pulls his hair out of the way. Looking across the room, he leans down a bit in his seat and picks up the weasel, who scampers up his arm and perches on his shoulder. A few patrons nearby turn and stare at the animal for a moment, but the grimy man appears not to notice. "See that, Quiven?" he whispers in a friendly manner to the animal, who turns to follow his master's gaze. Across the room, several young men carrying a lot of heavy, uncomfortable-looking gear line up, waiting their turn to speak to a considerably better-dressed figure. "That's a job, I'll wager." He fishes his spoon out of his bowl and offers the creature a small chunk of meat as he resumes his meal. "Maybe we'll get some travel out of it. This place is getting a little dull, don't you think?" Draining the last of his soup, he stands up and gathers his belongings. The weasel hops down off his shoulder and scampers along at his master's heels, drawing a few more looks as the wizard strides towards the small crowd.</blockquote>

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