"Tal Etai. Son of a Imani prostitute and unknown customer. Pickpocket, thief, burglar and magic user. I took this contract because magical education is expensive and I need to fund it. What I do best is provide cover and concealment for my fellow thieves and now, apparently, mercenaries as well." Swarthy and aquiline, he described the harrowing circumstances of his childhood, ignominious lineage and moral shortcomings into a few short sentences even as he reached for his pin; the blood was dried upon it -- someone's son, some life snuffed out. It was an ugly business, but most businesses were at the bare essentials. There wasn't a lot of sentimentality in his life, so he didn't particularly balk. He didn't look like the rugged tough type, but rather wiry and more understated. There wasn't a weapon openly on him, but there were a number of places where he might have a knife tucked away, dark folds of cloth cut just loosely enough and a cloak that could easily hide such a weapon, though such was cleverly concealed if it were there at all.

His drink sat untouched, as he let it sit there at a hard to reach angle. There was a slightly disdainful expression as he regarded the drink as he pulled in his pin, letting that sit in his palm. He contemplated that far longer than the beer; perhaps he'd seen one too many sots; those that drank too much and became slaves of it. Where he came from, self-control was an under-appreciated virtue.