"Show me?" Durwith chortled, stepping towards Felix slowly, "Haha, as much as we'd love teh' see your improvements, we're here on business, believe it or not!" Lorges nodded and slammed his mug against the table. Durwith shook his head and sighed. "Gotta guard a shipment of the brew, all the way back to Helgar! The Dwarves back home aint so keen on coming all the way here to Farndale for a drink, so this year there was one hell of a major order place to have five o' those 500 gallon Kegs delivered to our city's front gates!"

	The front of the guild bustled with activity as Durwith spoke. Lorges looked over, but didn't pay much mind to the newest visitor. Some masked fellow with bleach-white hair made his way past the crowds as carefully as he could. Seemed like a wimp to him, especially considering the guy's thin frame and narrow eyes. Was it an elf? Feh, who cared, anyways! Lorges was already more obsessed with the idea of [i]lunch.[/i] Durwith took one look at the mask man, but also disregarded him. The guy's tightly fitting white vest and chain-mail pants screamed [i]rogue.[/i] Those guys were never to be trusted.

	"We might not even have much time to enjoy ourselves now! Shipments bound to head out in the next hour, but we've got time to talk!"