[center][color=00BFFF][h3][u][b]Magnus Arhakaine[/b][/u][/h3][/color]
[sub][color=00BFFF]Location:[/color] The Crossed Swords
[color=00BFFF]Interacting With:[/color] Nor [/sub][/center][hr][hr]

	The Dwarf’s comments received a spluttered laugh from Magnus. Weirdoes and outcasts. Little fellow had hit the nail dead on the head. The swordsman wiped his sleeve across his mouth before taking another puff upon his pipe.

	[color=00BFFF]“Ain’t that the truth?”[/color] he chuckled. [color=00BFFF]“I probably qualify for both categories. Unfortunately, the way this place is shaping up, I’m unlike to get any monsters to fight anytime soon. Shame, too. That’s the best part of the job.”[/color] He was only half joking too. Sometimes a man just wanted to fight something. You could only take so much fruitless searching of graveyards, pointless interrogations, and insults from ashen haired huntresses, until your ire starts a’building, and your knuckles start itching. He couldn’t go hitting old men, or bad tempered adventuresses – [color=00BFFF][i]no matter how badly she has it coming[/i][/color] – so he was left hoping that some crinkly nasty came a’knocking, just so he could alleviate some of this aggravation. Chance would be a fine thing.

	[color=00BFFF]“So, master Dwarf. I came to Salarn cause I’m halfway between a weirdo and an outcast. What brings you to this [i]lovely[/i] hamlet. Can’t imagine there’s much call for a barber way out here, or at least not more call than there is in the more civilised parts of the world.”[/color]

	Striking up a conversation with Nor seemed like the simplest thing to do with his time while waiting for Ntaj to finish his second mammoth meal.