Lost Lands: Grimmsgate IC

[Farmerbink]

Artaith glances down at her scale mail and frowns. She shifts her weight slightly, sending the scales cascading noisily down her trunk and revealing a partial profile of the broad-bladed axe at her waist. I hearda' worse. Kinda does look like a cymbal, too...

"If we want to get to the village in one piece, we should go with a caravan. I think one is leaving today - we might be able to join if we go fast. Hardly anyone goes past Mirquinoc, but that's about halfway there..."

"Aye 'at's most sensible," the blonde-haired Dwarf grunts. "Might 'ven make some coin outa' it."

She shrugs, rolling impressively muscled shoulders, and looks around the table at the unlikely troupe. "Prolly best I let you all do the negotiatin'," she begins. "I'll be good for the fightin', if't comes to it, but've been getting... Ah they ain't gonna like me," she spits out.

Artaith actually favors Philemon with a smile as he expresses worries about his home town. "Don'cha fret, young'n. Ah'm not perfect, but we'll for sure make it safer, at least." She glances around the table, studying faces and inviting agreements and alternate options.