At the door, a shadow appears
Hobnailed boots thudding
On the Rusty's floor
Orcblooded bulk does bore
Through crowd's press a-swirling, a-swilling
The scarred scowl twitches, wincing at drunkards' cheers
Clad in a heavy greatcoat
And a hat broad-brimmed silver-trimmed
Grunts, the missing member of the rumours' heroes
Then rumbles and clears her throat
Glares at empty distance, her eyes' light dimmed
Down the hatch, her beer goes
Wolvish ears twitch, amber eyes squint
Over a sigh, over a yawn,
Over a second foaming mug
Thick-thewed shoulders sink,
As the heavily scarred woman slumps...
...then simply says,
"Aye. To Father Fox.
Squad. Good evenin'.
...Hrrhghrhmmm. Brin, Pharasmin pilgrim... did I get that right? How're yeh findin' Sandpoint thus far? Hrrhmm. "