Nuva Doer walked calmly into the inn, arm bar loosely covered with cloth but nonetheless visible for the weapon it was, as low to the ground as its point was. His size and equipment almost instantly drew whispers from those near him, but it was not until after he sat down at a table that word began really spreading about the presence of some skayleigh-sized person with a huge spike on his arm. Much as he tried to keep the weapon inconspicuous after taking his seat, it was not long before the bartender, a human seemingly in his early thirties, came over to him.

'Sir, we're getting a lot of complaints about you,' he pointed out, somewhat tremulously for the knowledge that the half-elf could probably kill him rather easily. 'You're going to have to take that spike off your arm.'

'I cannot do that,' Nuva responded. 'It's welded on.'

The bartender winced somewhat at this revelation, but nonetheless stood his ground quite admirably for a bartender. 'Then, sir, I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave. To stop scaring the customers, and so on.'

This happened on a regular basis. All Nuva wanted was a drink, maybe some food that wasn't traveller's rations, but the damned arm spike ruined his chance every time. At best, he might be given a certain degree of sympathy for his mutilations. More commonly, he'd just be told to get out, as though he couldn't control his weapon's location. He knew very well how to control it. If he wanted, he could cleave the bartender's abdomen out from between his thorax and hips. Or simply turn the man into the lower half of a body and a massive blood splatter.

As it was, the implication of an order was enough to sway him. That, and the obvious problem of guard encounters if he seemed like he would cause trouble. 'Sorry for wasting your time, then,' Nuva said with a sigh as he stood from his chair and turned to leave, catching his footing but slightly at what sounded suspiciously like a muttered '...better be' from the bartender. He remained silent as he left the building, taking a glance around the area to see if there were any stores which might sell rations of food and water, but shortly found himself approached by a dwarf. One of the tallest dwarves he'd ever seen, at that, must've been a good five feet or so. The dwarf, in turn, took one good look at him, then held a slip of paper out to him; cautiously, Nuva took it in his free hand, and read through what it had to say:

[i]If you're looking to get into Starkvale, and looking for some bounties to grab, meet me and my friends at the ruins of the old guard tower, north east of the field. Meet us at dusk. I contacted you because I believe you'll be of some use. Hope to see you. 
Captain Kayden.[/i]

Nuva couldn't say that particular individual sounded familiar to him, and by the time he looked up to ask about Kayden, the dwarf was gone. Nonetheless, it was work for him; maybe it'd be a way for him to sort out his life, too, if he was lucky.

[hr]

As dusk fell, Nuva approached the guard tower. Certainly, it was a ruin as described in the letter; it at least seemed sturdy enough to remain upright, but there was little chance that many of the floors would remain intact enough to stand upon. Sure enough, as Nuva climbed the approach to the tower's facade, he saw the same dwarf from before guarding the entrance into the place, and, if he looked past him, a few others already present around some form of table. Once again, as he often did, he was thankful that he had the wit to keep his true race a secret from others around him. He recalled the reactions of others to learning his ancestry, and shuddered to imagine yet another opportunity being wasted for reasons beyond his control.

'Sorry if I'm late,' Nuva offered to the dwarf. 'If I could be filled in on anything important I've missed, I'd appreciate it.'