The first to share his stories was the orc who wove his tale of betrayal with trembling shoulder. Likely not because of sadness, but because of rage. Despite his little knowledge about orcs, he did know that the majority of them held honour in high regard. The few orcish mercenaries he had come across had made that clear. As such, it came as no surprise why the orc in front of him was literally shaking with bottled in rage. Resting his elbows on his knees, Eltharion cupped his fist in front of his mouth and stared at Kamnar. "I assume there was no evidence of the betrayal?" he asked, before shaking his head with a similarly bitter smile, "Of course not, otherwise you would not be here." Another moment of silence passed before he spoke up again. "I assume if we get out, nay, once we get out of here, that you will seek out the perpatrator?" the smile widened, "until then though, channel your anger into the arena. From what I have seen already, you orcs are a force worthy of a Forest Thorn."

The next to speak up was the bear tribesman, or rather, the child sitting on its shoulder. Its voice was high and nasal, but its tone was dripping with sarcasm and venom.  "I could ask the very same thing," he replied as he looked up, meeting the child's eyes, "I have heard the...Treemind's...story, but I have yet to hear yours. I am unaware of how human children are raised, but you seem oddly cynical and eloquent for someone of your age." In return, he received a look that would have punched holes through a brick wall and positively screamed of 'mind your own business'. He met it with cold, hard emeralds of green. "Not to mention, I would like to know why you two are always situated together."

"Perhaps the treemind is this child's adoptive father," jested the clicky voice of the Skytalon next to him, the consonants of his words harsh and cutting despite his gentle tone, "would not be the strangest thing I have heard on the winds." This was followed by another feather ruffling cough and rasp. "Are you quite alright?" Eltharion asked as he slightly recoiled away from the birdman. He waved a cruelly taloned hard in response as he doubled over. "I'm *cough* I'm fine," he managed between gasps for breath, "it is a new sickness, but not *cough* not one that can be given to others." As his coughing fit sunsided, Eltharion sighed internally in relief. At least he wouldn't have to worry about sickness while being here as well. "What of your story, bird man?" Eltharion said as he saw the vestigial nubs of his wings, as well as a freshly sutured wound on his chest. Despite having a beak, the beastman managed to convey a sad smile. "I was a hunter for my tribe, up in the mountains near what the humans call Eredar. During a rather unsuccessful hunt, I spotted a large goat lying on the ground. As it was a rather unsuccessful season for our tribe, I relished this chance to put food on the table." A whistling sligh was emitted throug his cracked beak. "What a fool I was. It was a trap set by some slavers. They managed to trap me within some sort of choking haze before two others jumped out and  grabbed me. I fought as hard as I could but...well, one can only do so much when they cannot breathe, no?" a small bitter chuckle skipped through his beak. "After that...they took a bonesaw to my wings and...well, here I am."  He looked out the window wistfully, losing track of himself before once more falling into a coughing fit. Eltharion meanwhile pet him on the back between the wing stubs, unsure of what to say as he stared at the floor.

"Enough *cough* about *cough* me!" the birdman squeezed between rasping coughs, "What of you, my friend?" As he took a deep breath, he looked up with pained eyes. Pained, but brave eyes. Eltharion sat back and stared at the opposite bench, looking over a broad, brown bearded dwarf and a female dwarf who lacked the usual accoutrements. "What're ye lookin at, ye slant eared, tree humpin' twink?" the male one roared as he met Eltharion's gaze. The elf narrowed his eyes before looking away. "I was a Forest Thorn officer on the Palarian strip," he said as he folded his hands in front of him, "I served with honour and distinction, attempting to push the dwarves out of our ancestral homelands. After a particularly disastrous skirmish, we were surrounded and given a choice or either surrender, or death." Taking a deep breath, the elf clenched his fists. "Using my status as leverage...I arranged for the safety of the rest of the survivors of our ordeal in exchange for me coming quietly. After days of confinement and interrogation as a prisoner, I was deemed useless to their cause and sold to a slave trader." Looking up, he could see a smug smile on the male dwarf's face. He ground his teeth. "One day...I will return to my homeland and push the invaders back into their own lands...but until then, I am stuck here."

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A high pitched squaking noise interrupted Duvain as a small, furry, claw hooked arm gently rested itself on her leg. There was no force behind it, so it was most likely not hostile. Upon further investigation, she would find that it was a small sloth which had been slowly crawling towards her for the last...20 or so minutes. Apparently someone had left the creature in the cart after being finishing with it. That, or this cart magically produced sloths at random. Either way, the arm slowly drew back gefore the claws gently hooked onto Duvain's leg, the sloth pulling itself closer and letting out another squeak.

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"Bloody hoidy toidy elves," Griffith muttered as he shifted in his seat, folding his tree-stump like arms across his beard, "thinkin' tha' they're so great." Looking over to an empty seat, he looked to the right of it and saw a small figure huddled in the corner "Oi, Prinneh!" he called over to a scared looking adolescent human who instantly snapped up like a rabbit caught in the lantern light, "quit embarrassin' yerself an' git on th' bench lad. No-ones gonna yell at ye if ye do." Slowly and maintaining eye contact, the human boy stood up and sat down on the bench, folding his hands and placing them over his tightly locked legs. Griffith heard a slow beat despite all the talking and looked over to see a beardless Dwarfette rapping a beat on the wooden bench. "Ahh...when was th' las' time I heard th's beat?" he said as he shook his head, looking over to Koganusan as he started to stroke his beard. Looking over to the human, his mouth stretched into a smile under his bulbous nose. "Prinneh! When was th' last time we w're at Arz?" he asked somewhat loudly. The boy shuddered for a moment, before replying in a soft voice, "th-three weeks ago, sir." The dwarf clapped his hands together, startling the young boy. "Tha's right, three weeks ago," he confirmed as he rubbed his rough hands together, "I be guessin' yer from somewhere around thar then?" As if remembering he left a sweetroll in the burner, he held out a hand. "Allow me t' introduce meself, lassie, the names Griffith. I'm a warsmith...well was...and tha' human sacka' cowardice be my assistant, Prinneh!" With that, he turned to the human boy. "PRINNEH! Introduce yerself!" The boy gulped and looked towards Koganusan. "M-my name is Maximillion Primaris...the master calls me Pr-Prinny..." he replied, bowing his head.