Emmerling rocked on his heels and cracked his knuckles as Cliver spoke with the gate guard. The guild was a curious grouping of individuals. Cliver had seemed strange to him when they had first met, but the others were a weird collection. The tall elf woman struck the older man as a strange character. She had an aura of defensiveness around her and seemed ever alert. The guild master herself was an enigma as well. She was short to the point she seemed almost a child, and she did not carry herself in the way that he would figure a guild master would.

He blinked and stared off across the muddy Fort Mundy.

Forty people dying fighting a dragon. That must have been an endeavor. For a moment Emmerling wondered if she had witnessed it. There was a glimmer of thought before his eyes focused again. It was none of his business. None of it was. The reason there was a girl with wings, or a Halfling, or a drunk man, or even the unconscious man carried by Sarrai’a. Adventurers were always strange.

Emmerling pulled his hat off of his head and turned a wipe of his brow into a salute of acknowledgement to the approaching Elras. His hair was a thick brown that was pulled so tautly into a pony tail that it seemed like his forehead would tear. 

“Mhm, yes. We’ll be handlin’ fixing this guild house.” Emmerling said. “It doesn’t matter what shape this building is in, I’ll fix it up right an’ tighty.”

With a hiccup, Emmerling follows Lilith into the forest with the rest of them. Every step of his heavy and laborious, and as they wandered his thirst came with a sticky dryness that he quenched with a skin of water.

“Now, how long’ve ya’ll been together?” Emmerling asked over the din of casual conversation, “You all seem quite friendly with each other, like fast friends.”