the fellow in green is haggard looking, as if the dregs of a hero were left in the bottom of a beer stein. definitely an adventurer, definitely one who'd seen better days, despite how young he looks. he can feel eyes on him, but he doesn't turn around from the polishing of his hammer.
"if you're going to attack me, you might as well do it now. i can feel the dread leeching off of you."
"You mistake dread for hostility, I'd say." the words whip back like a rubber band pulled too far, but at the same time, the sting was lacking. the elf can't help but wonder if the poor guy could even handle himself, but the last time they considered something like that, they damn near died and lost the run - though in the end it didn't matter, it seems. "You look miserable. I hear it loves company."
