Ori sat on a camp stool, brewing over tankard of mead, his clay pipe hanging from his lips. Reaching into the pouch at his side he pulled a wad of tobacco and packed it into the bowl. Striking his flint with the blade of his knife to light it. The night had been one full of merry-making and celebration but dance and mead had left him feeling drowsy. He noticed a group of his fellow mercenaries chatting for a while and then walking off towards the mayor's table. Ori thought that it was odd but assumed that there leader Raven was going to collect his coin. Ori followed his short legs wobbly as he tried to catch up. He abandoned hope at the edge of the woods, where they carried on down the road, as he turned back to return to his humble quarters at the inn.