Tariq ibn Al-Quereshi, Acolyte of Irori
AC: 16 | MAX HP: 18 | CURRENT: 18 [B]
FORTITUDE: +4 | REFLEX: +6 | WILL: +10 | PERCEPTION: +8
SPELL SLOTS: FONT: 3/3 | 1st: 3/3
FOCUS POOL: 1 | CURRENT: 1
ACTIVE EFFECTS: None.
CONDITIONS: None.

Tariq entered the establishment slowly, observing the antics of the troop already within, the gnome, Giggles, and the goblin, Thwack, were working the crowd, while Pip, their costumer, moved from the barman to a cluster of local hoodlums. He was not a tall man, though he stood just under six feet, but he was packed with wiry, corded muscle, barely hidden behind silks and cottons of beige and ochre, a large beaded necklace around his neck, bandgles of burnished copper and bronze on both wrists, a long, narrow face, hair shorn to the scalp, but a wide, bristling beard of dark brown hair, and a single red dot sat amidst his forehead, marking him a follower of Irori.

"Tankard of your darkest ale, if you please." He placed a small stack of silver and copper on the counter, "and ensure it remains full for the evening?" He smiled as the barman began to pour, touched his forehead, then his heart, "My thanks, you are noble in both action and deed." With that he turned to his friends, moving towards where Mitts, their ropeman, was talking to dwarven woman, and her ... goat?

Curious, he grabbed his tankard, and wandered towards the pair. "I hope my companion isn't bothering you miss." He shrugged, "We know not what to do with ourselves, normally, any given town we roll into, we're given a stern talk from the sherriff about grifting, thievery and extorsion, all things most small minded folk think of carnies and circus hands." His brow furrowed, he let a shadow of concern pass over his face, "as we've not received that talk, I can only assume that the people of Abberton are more ... enlightened?"