Tondrek
During the entire time conversation had been going on in the Shard, there had been a soft clanging and occasional muttering from one of the back rooms. Someone—or something—was working. On what or for what purpose was unclear.
As the conversation squashes the quiet that had dwelt in the Shard for so long, the banging stops. Someone struggles with a door to one of the back room before emerging: A male halfork overburdened with an overabundance of scrolls, fine hand-crafted equipment, and other detritus. His cloak, a tattered affair, is draped over the bulging leather pack that contains the burdens; various artisan tools are strapped in an akimbo fashion on the pack, balanced in part by a light crossbow dangling from the other side. The rest of the half-orc's common traveler's clothes are greasy and loose, having obviously been slept in, hiding any other armor or weapons he may be carrying. Astride the blinking halfork is a large iron dog, finely crafted with intricate gears and magic that are at odds with the random materials used in its formation.
The half-orc stumbles in an looks around a moment with watery green eyes. He pushes aside his greasy black hair absently, and then, with a dumb grin, noticed waves at Brews in a familiar manner. Brews! More peoples! I like peoples! They bring junk and stuff! The halfork manages to make his way down the stair, the homunculus familiar following. He clambers carefully up a seat at the bar and looks over the gathered and waves cheerfully.
Hi! I Tondrek and I make stuff!
