Cannol

The wildest of the bunch, a rather tall barrel chested fellow with lavender eyes and even more wild red hair that bears a few braids over his scalp, seems almost nonchalant as he leans back in his chair. Held in one hand crossed over his chest, as a king would would a scepter, is a darkwood staff that looks barely a few inches too thick than a normal stave ought. Pelts and hide are his armaments, adding to the feral look of his sharp hawk like nose and narrow eyes. All that he's missing is a beard; incongruously his angular face (almost elven in terms of it) seems unable to produce facial hair.

He was more interested in looking the way of the serving maid (and his hand noticeably moved when she past him as if he nearly followed through with the notion to cop a feel but felt it prudent to save the act for later) than the talk of invaders it seemed, but when the wine was passed and the others began to introduce themselves, he resigns himself to the task at hand. ...No, no the OTHER task.

Cannol Emberleaf of the Warmblood druids, yer captainship. I've had right enough of sharin' the land with these invaders so I'm here to aid these fellows in doin' something about it. They can rest easier knowin' I'm to lend them my strength.

He laughs aloud at his own 'humor' and drinks deeply, an almost surprising act as one would think a druid would abstain.. or at least water the stuff down.