[indent][indent]Beneath the massive roundtable came the constant but near-silent shuffling of Nove’s excitement. His right leg bounded up and down with a effortless hush. He roamed around the idea of finally have friends and comrades that he could share his adventures with. No longer would he have to sit at the fire alone or go a night without hearing another’s voice. Those lonely parts had been disheartening. But no longer, at the moment he had both monstrous and beautiful faces around him. Faces that would share journey and battle with him. 

He thought control had been tightly guarded by him but he let a smirk slip onto his lips. Soon afterwards Artemis clapped her hands, signaling a robed figure nearby, and initiated some signing process.

Nove bit his gum. [b]“Ragnarok!”[/b] he mumbled, staring at the looming questions and blank lines on the parchment.  

Impulsively he raised a hand to lament. In a fraction of the next moment he changed his mind and grudgingly began to fill out the form. His handwriting, despite his rural upbringing, was polished and matronly. Somewhere between him starting the form and Artemis wrapping up her speech; a deep voice had demanded attention. 

Nove first looked to the Orc. The voice had not come from him… or her. He tilted his head and eyed the tightly packed muscles on the creature's chest.  

[i]Him, definitely a him,[/i] Nove concluded.

That left the wolf-man. His bronze eyes followed a slow trail to the hairy titan. And upon hearing the beast’s words, along with observing his body language, Nove felt it necessary to speak up. On his back rested a mundane iron-sword but by its gleam it was obviously well-taken care of. He unbuckled the strap pinning it to his back, slid his chair back, and with a smile pointed the pommel towards the Lycan. 

There was a bit of hesitation in him now. Some inkling of a worry that a fight would break out but he pushed it behind his warm greeting and determined grit. [b]“You have my blade, Wolf-guy. You all do."[/b][/indent][/indent]