Blar: The Skull's Cups

Log Info

• Title: Blar: The Skull's Cups
• Emitter: Jay
• Characters: Barclaiigh, Jay, Bannon, Slixvah, Zofija
• Place: The independent City-State of Blar:
• Time: Thursday, March 10, 2022, 8:46 PM
• Summary: The Skull's Cups is a bar fashioned out of an ancient wyrm's skull. It has two levels and varied clientel, although largely military and goblinoid. Recent arrivals to the city, Slixvah, Bannon and Barclaiigh, converge there, as Zofija expounds a little on the local culture. They are joined by a blue jay Egalrin, who is in the midst of an argument, and claims to be a lawyer. Introductions are made, and the Jay confirms he knows where Barclaiigh's family is before he gets pulled off into other things. Conversation continues, with Zofija outlining what she's interested in, in a partner.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The independant city-state of Blar =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

A hobgoblin city, broken away from Bludgun and the capital of all goblinoid settlements that have also thrown off that yoke. It is inhabited and run by goblinoids and suits them -just fine-. It is a hard place, shaped by the competing outlooks of the Arvek Nar, the gobbos and to a lesser degree, the oruchs. Yet, it is still a city, cosmopolitan and filled with people going about their daily business. The more 'civilized' and softer races, like elves and halfings and of course humans, are not completely absent.

But they are rare.

One is more likely to see a bugbear or a docile gnoll, and any 'civilized' citizen or visitor should be on the solid side if they hope to be seen after running into one of the former. Understandably, it can seem a little like a gaol, with muscular, tattoo'd and heavily scarred men and women glaring about. It is not. There are children playing, folk buying groceries, old men engaged in strategy games under the trees.

The games are more violent, the food rougher, the old men have weapons close at hand should their wargame need a diplomatic solution. There is a lot more marching, patrols of hobgoblins in the streets, and explosions. The goblinoid sectors are not considered the swankiest parts of town. Lone Oruchs go about their tasks, preferring to act alone. A lot of stares and glares.

And very few smiles. Telling someone to smile is a good way to lose some teeth. Maybe that is why none of them do.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-  Appearing  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Barclaiigh   4'5"     202 Lb     Mountain Dwarf    Male      A thick tree-trunk of a dwarf. Wavy auburn hair, loose traveling clothes.
Jaytalker    5'9"     145 Lb     Eaglefolk         Male      A perky male Blue Jay with a discerning eye.
Slixvah      5'8"     130 Lb     Eaglefolk         Female    A rust red and white Eglarin covered in veils, ribbons, and shawls.
Zofija       5'8"     225 Lb     Hobgoblin         Female    A well-dressed Arvek-Nar with a big hammer.
Bannon       5'9"     195 Lb     Human             Male      A shorter man of Tsuran heritage, with a thin moustace and goatee.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

A centerpiece and something of a tourist attraction, if Blar could ever lay claim to such a thing, is the Skull's Cups: a tavern built out of the meatless bonebox of a long-dead wyrm. The entrance is missing one fang and large enough for smaller giantkin. Inside, the place is hunged with banners, wall and ceiling drapes. Chandliers are in great abundance, throwing a galaxy of dots along the innner curves of the bones. The long maw is flanked by small tables with one-or-two chairs before opening up into the large common room proper.

A raised, circular stage is surrounded on its perimeter by a circular bar manned by at least two barkeeper. The center of the main floor has large tables scattered around. Two curved staircases take patrons to the second floor and balcony seating at the empty eye sockets. A final staircase goes to the top of the skull and the private offices of the pub's owners.

A bar in Blar. That's what this bird wanted. Nay, needed.

So the outrageously dressed Eglarin woman strides in with her head held high. A bit tired from the restless sleep that most face, but she presses on regardless, and finds herself at an open chair at the circular bar, taking in the scenery from the inside. She wasn't one to chitter needlessly, especially in Blar. Instead she swoops an eye about the place and gets something of the regular brew.

It was an interesting place, the tavern, but it was more than just a novelty in Blar, at least for the most part. And the Arvek-nar cavalier who was with the group Strode into the bar confidently, taking her own seat at the bar, doffing her hat and pulling off her gloves before making her own request from the bar. "About time we were able to get some cold drinks in us, and have some time to relax off duty." Zofi grunts.

The pub patrons are primarily goblinoids, groups of goblins, hobgoblins and oruchs, and distribute themselves size-wise. There are several groups of goblins clustered around tables, hobgoblins who are either in small, silent, and dour groups or sitting along with their backs to the wall. Finally, the Oruchs are almost always sitting alone.

There are other races in there, but decore and the sight lines make it hard to see the whole place. The egalrin's entrance draws a lot of stares, her cavalier friend, virtually none. If anything, a few salutes.

Slixvah, the eaglefolk that was getting some eyes on her, reclines back after ordering her drink in one of the local tongues: Yrch-Speak. She wasn't privy to start anything in a place where she stuck out so much. But being beside a native made it a hell of a lot easier. "You could say that again, muscles," she chirps to the Avrek-nar settling in beside her as her attention was sweeping around to the bony architecture. She gets her brew, and nurses it in her lap. "Been too long since I've been able to just unwind for a spell or five."

Sticking out perhaps like a sore thumb is a whip-thin man of Tsuran descent sitting lazily at one of the tables. His elbow is pressed up against the table, with his chin resting on his thumb and his index finger tracing the lines of his equally whip-thin moustache. He looks around the bar with interest, a pleasant enough smile on his face. In his left his is the handle to a tankard of ale, which periodically makes its way up to his lips much to the delight of the drinker.

"I could, but there's not much reason in doing that. Mouth is put to better use getting a drink down it." The hobgoblin chuckles, taking the large flagon she was given, and downing almost half of it with a satisfied sigh. "About as good as I remember it, maybe better with not having it in a while. Just remember, if anyone starts to bother you, just threaten to break their jaw, nose, or both. Or actually break them."

"You're going to regret that... No! That's not a threat of violence. I'll sue! ... Yes, I'll exercise all my legal options. Sue! Sue! .... What's your name? ... That's a title, not a name." There's a flap at the entrance, and one half of a loud conversation being shouted at someone outside.

Dancing back and forth through the fang-gap, a Blue Jay Egalrin has a collection of folders clutched under one wing, as he hops forward to caw... call out, then back as if dodging the verbal reply.

"Yes! Yes I will!" He warns, hopping two full steps inside, and then turning to abruptly disengage. His head twitches from side to side as he looks over the tables. Beaks don't really impart smiles, but with his crest standing tall, he seems pleased more than anything else. Continuing to glance around he squawks, "Anyone need a solicitor? I work cheap. Cheap!"

Angling his eyes towards the door, the Tsuran raises an eyebrow at the ensuing (see what I did there?) conversation. He squints, tilting his head to the side as the Eaglefolk comes in to begin drumming up business. He quite nearly loses a swig of his drink at the manner in which its conducted.

Bannon sets down his tankard of ale, wiping his lips with the back of his hand before he calls out, "No thank you! I do all my soliciting myself, and the ladies say I'm adequate..." He blinks for a moment, as if finally understanding the implication, before he simply goes back to his drink with his eye on the litigator.

Slix chuckles, shaking her head. "I'll keep that in mind, shug. I just want a drink. I feel sorry if anyone wants to pick on lil' ol' me. I'm harmless."

She chitters in amusement into her cup before taking a healthy swig of it. Sharp eyes catch another sore thumb in the crowd, and she's finding herself already being friendly, turning towards him. But just as opens her mouth-

Conversation rolling in like a tide breaks her off of getting acquainted with the human. She blinks. Beak opening and closing a few times before she picks it up off the floor. She clears her throat. And speaks in a chirpy, trilling tune, "Oh no, sugar. I'm good. You get your wing bent the wrong way?" <Auran>

Not long after the popinjay's entrance there's an almost ominous slap-slap-slapping down the maw entryway. A steady pace that slows dramatically when the room opens up and the interior of the common room proper is revealed. Barclaiigh isn't one for playing his cards close to his chest and so he just ends up standing in the way, slowly turning in place with his mouth open and a thoroughly gobsmacked expression plastered on his face.

"Dang," is the dwarf's summary appraisal. That delivered, he manages to close his mouth and affect a guileless grin as he continues to the barkeep's counter. Sausage fingers reach to his belt to begin the work of digging out a few coins as he inspects the kegs behind the working men.

A long night of rest has done wonders for the Khazad-aul; his troubled eye has begun to rejoin the game and his most-recent bite is bandaged, salved, and the bandages sealed with an Elunite blessing. With the pack, armor, and kit, he still looks a bit like a traveling yokel... but any physical illusions otherwise would've been dispelled by his entrance.

"It's why you have to make the threat. See all those Oruch around? Half of them are waiting for someone to try and infringe on their space for a show of force. It's just the way things are around here sometimes, and it's kind of funny, since most of them actually want someone to drink and talk with." The hobgoblin chuckles as she sets down the now empty flagon that is getting replaced quickly. Long enough for her to see the others, and raise one brow at the entrances. "Good to see you're back Barclaiigh. Good time at the massage parlor?" She asks, listening to the exchange to the other Egalrin, but not understanding the reply yet. "Ah, no, I'm fine for now."

"What? What!" The bluejay bird-man hops again, standing tall so he can peer around and find the source. "Hello! Hello! I'm good too. No, just another 'paper's please'. They know who I am." <auran>

He steps backwards from Barclaiigh, his tail fanning then folding as he moves between the tables, before turning and moving up on Slixvah. The folders of paper transfer from under one wing to another. "Good to meet you!" He tells Slixvah, then faces Zofija, "Good to meet you too. I want someone to drink and talk with, is there room for that at this table?"

Slix gives a small wave to Barclaiigh as he enters. "Gotta say, sugar, you're looking like a pretty cherry," she winks. "Good to see you doing well."

She nods to Zofi. "Most people just want someone to talk to. But most don't like listenin'. I'll listen though.

And now, the Bluejay. She eyes him over, up down, head tilting to the side. "A pleasure, sugar," she coos to her kin. "Sit, take a load off. What's got your pretty blues all in a bind?"

A glance to the human, then a shrug as she beckons him over as well. "C'mon now, let's not sulk about."

The dwarf was looking pretty good. Key word: was. At the mention of the massage parlor Barclaiigh's smile is interrupted by a choking sound. Then Slixvah brings up cherries his face flushes a matching color. The dwarf sputters a bit, looking both down and away. Sputtering turns to mild coughing and then to a bit of throat-clearing.

"Ah..." he glances over his shoulder still red in the face. His trousers are hiked up a bit and he shakes out his left leg, clearing his throat one last time before he turns around. No wild magics were employed but the druid still looks entirely sheepish. "No. I, er-ah... escaped. Skedaddled. (... ain't no massages like the bathhouse in Alexandria...)" he mumbles the last part while inspecting the wood grain on a stool.

Bannon smirks, his head tilting in mock indignation, "I'm not skulking. I'm merely sitting in the shadows, minding my own business, until lawyers walk in upon which I taunt them." He stands, picking up his tankard as he tucks in his chair, "That's pretty much the exact opposite of skulking."

He walks around tables until he comes up to the one Slix and company are at. He pulls out one of the chairs, turns it so the back is facing the table, and then sits astride the chair to rests his arms across the chairback. He sets his tankard down and turns towards Jaytalker, "And what does bring one as litigious as yourself to a place as hostile as this?"

"Huh. Thought that's what had you in such a good mood. Should have warned you I suppose, but at least something else has you in a good mood." Zofi shrugs, taking her new drink, with a bit more restraint than the first. Just a bit. "Can't say I was expecting two egalrin in here, and I came in with one of them. Peace on your nes,er, I think that's a hardscale thing. Nice to meet you, I guess."

"Well, gotta do a better job when a lawyer has been sitting here already. Or, not really, but the order of the scale is close enough. More like, if a lawyer decided that sometimes they have to bludgeon the defendant to get their point across and get them to hold their end of the bargain up."

"Oh! Well, the winds, and satisfied clients. Dozens of satisfied clients." The pompy jay says, looking left, looking right, "and circumstances! Cases that convinced me I was needed further afield.

His eyebrow feathers stand up as he looks at Zofija, "actual violence? Well, that is an impressive hammer."

He opens his beak wide at Bannon, "No, we have nests too. Integrity C. Truefeather, at your service, for hire."

Slix giggles quietly from all those she's tussled with her words. "Oh, c'mon, shug, lighten up. Get on over here and grow lax, gods know you need it," she coos to Barc before shaking her head.

She looks over to the Bluejay. "I wasn't even expecting one! It's nice to see another flapping about. Slixvah Unmesi, but you can call me Slix, honey."

She leans forward some. "So what /is/ a little Jay like you doing around here in /Blar/, Mister Truefeather?"

"(...just plumb tuckered out'n got some sleep,)" mumbles the repressed Khazadi man. He uses his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow (why is it so hot in here?) and returns to the business of getting a drink. Not knowing Goblin-talk proves to be a bit of a problem when reviewing the brews on tap. There's a lot of 'hrm.. hrmmmmm'ing and beard-combing with curled fingers.

"Suggestions?" He finally thinks to ask, looking to Zofija first and then widening his inquiry with a rolling gaze. It's then that he finally notices the unfamiliar faces and resumes his smiling before offering a wave.

"Course, when someone's breaking an oath and agreement, and they don't have a good reason to be doing it, then oftentimes they're the kind of sort that needs percussive maintenance on their skull to get the point across." The arvek-nar chuckles. "Last resort, though. When you can't talk it out like civilized folk." "Well, there's plenty of work in Blar, and by the gods it needs it sometimes. But it's still home, and not a bad place. As for drinks? Depends what you're after. Oruch brew tends to be just whatever will actually manage to get an oruch drunk, but not much flavor to it. Might be biased, but nar' brew has a much more balanced and smooth taste to it. As for the goblin stuff? Well, it's usually best if you're feeling adventurous, they tend to be a bit more, 'experimental' with their drinks. Sometimes come out with something amazing, but sometimes the washrooms are full of outurned stomachs when they try out a new thing."

"Adventure!" The eager egalrin chirps. "Adventure, and Surprise. Adventure, Surprise and Challenge. And gold!" He spreads his wings, "everyone needs a little jay in their lives, and some of them need representation too. Why, I've..."

He peers around the inside of the pub, then points some pinfeathers at the upper level at a hobgoblin. "I've defended him!"

The Arvek Nar in question turns away, brings up his mug.

Integrity ends up bobbing his head, "I couldn't give better recommendations!"

At the assertion that they do, in fact, have nests, Bannon replies matter-of-factly over another glug from his tankard of ale, "Will wonders never cease." He glances towards the one who mentioned the colloquialism involving nests and shrugs, finishing his drink. He then replies, "Bannon Vayne, Ruffian in service to the Laughing One." He glances around to those talking, then his gaze travels to the Yrchs that surround them though stay somewhat to themselves.

The Ruffian hmms for a moment and then picks up his tankard again, holding it in midair in prelude to his next sip, though not quite going for it immediately.

Slix tilts her head to the side. Her craning her neck over her shoulder to look at the nar that was pointed out, but she just giggles to herself as they pretend they weren't even singled out. "Well honey bun, all of those are right and dandy. I can relate to most of it. Save, maybe, gold. Don't really care about that too much, quite frankly."

She dips her veiled head towards Bannon. "Pleasure Mister Vayne. A good patron you have. Amusing, that one."

"Barclaiigh Stoutbrew," the dwarf announces, joining in on the introductions with a friendly (if distracted) smile. After hearing Zo's explanation he went ahead and request a pint of a gobber brew, unhooking a carved wooden traveling mug and placing it on the counter. A small assortment of coins follows.

"You ain't run into a Raadmahn Stoutbrew, have you Mister Birdfeathers?" The Khazadi druid turns away from the bar while the 'nar behind works on his pour. He holds up a calloused hand about level with his temple descriptively. "'bout this high. Hair darker'n mine but red, too'n short. Two braids in his beard. Skinny, though; skinnier'n an overworked dairy cow during a drought..."

"It's okay, I don't make a lot of gold." Integrity says, quickly dismissing that reason. He calls to the rest of the pub, "You hear that? I don't have gold!"

He turns his head, leaning forward, "Always best to remind people. So no mistakes are made." He fluffs, ruffling his own feathers and looking bigger, and then brushing them back into place. "What brings all of you here?"

The jay looks at Barclaiigh next, twisting his head from one side to the other, alternating eyes on the dwarf, then the human, "Ceiwen guides my wings, and yes. Yes I have! There aren't many dwarves around."

"I don't know any stoutbrew. Haven't really been back in any official form for some time though, so maybe they're around." Zofi offers. "Skyguard Zofija Voght, formerly second lieutenant of the sixth Blar cavalry regiment, and not dishonorably discharged, if anyone thought they could pick a fight with me over that." The arvek-nar huffs, finishing with another swig of ale. "Integrity, right. Tegri'll work fine. Maybe best not to advertise how little money you have either, lest someone thinks it fair grounds to make someone disappear without anyone looking into it."

Slixvah looks between all present. It seems like she might add something or another to the conversation, but like she said before, she's a good listener. So she sips on her drink and watches the exchange between the dwarf and Egalrin.

She does chirp, however, "Muscles is right, shug, keep it on the down low," she nods towards Zofi.

The earlier awkwardness entirely forgotten, Barclaiigh actually hops an impressive distance to land with a two-sandaled slap on the floor. His hands are balled into triumphant fists up by his shoulders. The dwarf shakes with barely-contained excitement but he refrains from heartily slapping the egalrin; he's aware many birds possess hollow bones.

"Gimme onn'a them, whatchacallits... retainers! Ain't gotta argue no case'r nothin' but help me find my cousin'n I'll pay you. Whatever you reckon is fair... iff'n yer boss Ceiwen thinks yer workload ain't already too much, mister Birdfeather." His big hand reaches down to clouch a pouch and it jingle-jangle-jingles when he shakes it. Like spurs.

"Contract accepted!" Integrity chirps, "That's what the C stands for. Integrity Contract Truefeather." He is willing to slap the dwarf on the back. He does possess hollow bones. It's not so much a slap as a buffing. "I'll take you right there."

He nods at Slixvah and Zofija, "Okay, I will."

"Good, glad you got that sorted. Shouldn't be too hard to find a dwarf in Blar, unless they don't want to be found." Zofi nods, finishing off most of her drink. "Let me know if you see any cute Arvek-nar here, would you Slix? I'm mostly paying attention to my drink here, and I heard your kind have good eyesight. Eagle eyes, or something of that sort."

"We're here to deliver something, that's all. And I wanted to check in on some people while I'm here."

Slixvah makes a questioning coo sound as Barc hops up and is more animated then she's seen before. But she just ends up chuckling and shaking her feathered head. "Good to see you got some lead to find your fam, cherry," she hums.

The request from the Nar makes a twinkle sparkle in her blue eyes. "Oh /absolutely/ muscles! What's your type? Strong and burly? Little and demure? Man or woman? Both? I'll keep an eye out~!"

Barclaiigh's enthusiasm is tempered as he looks again to Slixvah. The dwarf chews on his tongue for a moment before he manages to work up the nerve and ask, "Please don't call me that, miss? I don't like it, sorry." His cheeks color mildly and he looks at the floor, wiggling his toes awkwardly.

He'll focus on the good news! A thinner smile back on his face, the Khazadi man nods at Jaytalker. "Mighty kind of you, mister."

"Anytime! A family reunion will be great." The Blue Jay squawks. Slixvah ends up with a beak pointed at her as he notes the name, and the reaction she got from Barclaiigh, "Always a good time to remind people about Last Wills and Testaments, Guardianships and trustees!."

His head snaps to Zofija, "Have you considered a courtship contract?"

"Slix, if you manage to find a 'little and demure' arvek-nar lady, that'll just make me feel bad as I wonder why she isn't getting enough to eat." Zofija snorts. "Right industrious you are Tegri, you'd fit right in with most of the gobbers here. But ah, I'll pass on the contract, I'm not the sort to force a relationship, and I'd hate to have to deal with oathbreakers for something like that with a big hammer."

"Their round bald heads. I get nesting withdrawals." The jay says. He hops off his seat, wing-slaps Barclaiigh's back again. He spreads his arms, "I'll get us some nuts. Berries. Back Soon."

He's out of the room, off to the bar and snacks. Fortunately he's left his case files behind.

Slixvah easily nods towards Barc, allaying his nervousness. "Of course, sugar, I'll drop that. I want you happy, not squirming."

She blinks at Zofi, then chuckles warmly, patting her on the shoulder. "Muscles wants some muscled lass, you got it, hon!" she chirps, turning around in her chair and scouting the place.

Slixvah waves to her kin making an exit. "Well that was an excitable feather, don't ya'll think?"

"Thanks, miss," Barclaiigh smiles again at Slix as his shoulders relax down. His little eyes squint after the birdman at law and he offers a shallow shrug. "Iff'n he's honest'n knows my kin he won't be able t'fly fer all the coin I'll pay'm."

"Reckon I'll help him here since he'll be helpin' me directly," and then Bar's off, his sandals slapping as he chases after

"Well, I'll hold you too that agreement, Barclaiigh. I don't want you stiffing them when all's said and done." Zofija replies somewhat ominously. At least it was broken by the Arvek-nar chuckling loudly. "Appreciate it Slix, you're understanding it well enough." She continues. "Nothing wrong with someone with a bit less muscles than me, It's just, you're going to be hard pressed to find an arvek-nar that isn't at least relatively broad, compared to most."

"They do seem to be an energetic sort. Though I can't help but worry they might hold something I say against me in court. And enough drinks often make lips a bit more loose than they should be."

Slixvah waves a wing to the dwarf. "Take care sugar. And get some sleep! Or I'll shove you into a nest to pass out into!"

Turning back to Zofija, her eyes half lid in a smile. "Oh I know, muscles. I've been around the bend or two. Let this love bird find you some fun. I got you, pumpkin."

She scratches her beak, knocking back some of her brew as well. "Legal eagles... yes, good insight honey, take care around them."

She glances down. "Ooh... what's this now..?" she cooes, grabbing the files left behind and dragging them over to herself.

There are lots and lots of notes. Sadly the writing is like chicken scratch.

"You're pretty alright, Slix." The arvek-nar chuckles, spinning in her seat to pull the egalrin into a brief hug, while her other hand continued to down most of her drink, cheeks starting to turn into a full sunset from the brew. "Don't have to do that, but I appreciate it. Hard to make out, but they're his notes, I don't speak Auran, so none of it makes sense to me. Tell you what though! I can still drink and show off a bit, so that'll help if you see any 'nar around that look interested. How does that sound?"

Slix shifts a bit in her chair, feathers puffing out proudly before she's pulled into a quick embrace. One that was returned with an all encompassing, warm wing.

It's short lived as she pulls back, her watching Zofija close as she intones, "Of course I'm pretty alright. Slix is slick~" She winks at her before turning her gaze downward to the notes.

"Honey, I'd tell you want this is, but this man's handwriting is downright terrible. He dots his t's and crosses his i's, the mad lad."

She perks up, and gets out of her chair slightly. "That sounds good, muscles. I'll be your wingwoman! Get plastered, honey buns, I got you."

This will be quite the hilarious night indeed.

A coyote may laugh somewhere.

Dramatis Personae

Bannon
The human man you espy is a colorful figure. He stands a few inches below six feet tall, with a lithe and athletic build. He is dusky skinned and brown eyed, with wild black hair that is kept to a length just below his neck and otherwise not styled in any particular fashion. He has a thin moustache extending in a graceful arch beyond the edge of his lips, and a strip of a beard that travels from the center of his lower lip to the center of his chin.

He is dressed in his working best, with the main bit of kit being a sleeveless leather jerkin that laces up the front. Beneath this is a bright blue shirt, with thin yellow stripes radiating down from the shoulders and disappearing into the gloves on his hands. Buckled to his left forarm is a buckler of a fine quality, angled in such a way as to provide protection from attacks directed at that side of his body while not interfering with his ability to move his hand and wrist. His pants are dark grey in color, tight fitting, and tuck into a pair of boots that come just above his knee. The boots seem to have additional padding or light armor at the knees. Holding the jerkin in place is a woven leather swordbelt that rests on the man's waist, carrying an intricately hilted rapier. A rectangular leather piece with several sheaths is strapped to his left thigh, with a another piece of leather running up to his swordbelt in a drop-holster configuration for carrying a few daggers.

Barclaiigh
Bar is a foot shorter than most humans but half-again as heavy. A dwarf's dwarf; broad at the shoulders, round at the belly, and crowned with a frizzy mop of auburn hair. His mustache looks a thick, sleeping caterpillar while the bush of his beard is massive, making his barrel-shaped chest seem even rounder. His lips are thin, his mouth wide, and his broad, oft-broken nose splits his face like a jagged peak. His brown eyes seem small and unremarkable surrounded by that wavy halo of fire.

The Khazad-aul's clothing is simple, comfortable, and colored in browns, light greens, and tans. A long skirt tunic, loose breeches, and tall, strappy sandals. He wears a leather thong necklace long enough to hang below his beard what sports two boar's tusks. His belt is heavy with pouches and kit, a trio of blades, and a sturdy wooden traveling mug.

He smells of the wilds but pleasantly so; a freshwater stream, verdant moss, or clean earth. Not animal musk.

Jaytalker
Integrity C. Truefeather, esquire and supra-genius is a Blue Jay Egalrin lawyer. He stands tall and proud, sharply looking around for a situation he can jump into and provide counsel. His leather armour is padded and puffed, cut for avian lines, with bolas and a rapier on his belt. He wears a blue lupin on his lapel. His crest is long, ready to pop up at any objectionable thing. He is full of energy, standing and strutting about with style and flourish.

Slixvah
Average in height, but large in personality, Slixvah is an outrageously decorated Egalrin. Her rusty red and white feathers don't sully her outlandish garb; in fact, it makes it stand out even more. Colorful and plentiful, ribbons adorn her wing joints and arms to make a dazzling display of splendor, especially when those wings stretch out to their ten foot span.

Loose fitting robes of a multitude of colors rest against her frame while various veils and shawls dangle from different sections of her clothes. One veil even covers her face, but she's quite often pulling it down to give a smiling twinkle in her sky-blue eyes behind her raptor-like beak.

There is usually a white-plumed thrush nestling in one of the many nooks and crannies of her swishy attire.

Zofija
Zofija stands at slightly above average for an Arvek-nar, but she is even more muscular than most, which is an impressive feat for the military minded race. Their skin is a light orange-brown, brightening to almost white at the tip of their nose. Their hair is short length and brow, and just a bit wild when not covered by a hat. The arvek-nar usually has a stern look to them, with yellow eyes that almost seem to be judging the person looking at them.

She is usually dressed much how one would expect arvek-nar cavalry to be. A fur lined black jacket draped over her right arm like a cloak, over top of a dark red coat hiding the chainmail underneath. A pair of cream colored slacks accompany the outfit, but they are covered up partially by a pair of almost knee height riding boots of oiled black leather.