Jerod nodded to the lancelot lassie when she agreed to a mug of booze. So that was two more mugs then, so far, one for him, one for her. The prim and proper knightess lass declined, on the grounds of a low amount of tolerance for the stuff. Chuckling and shrugged, the feroxian barbarian replied with an equally barbed verbal jab, which made him laugh rather then anything else. Leave it to the Feroxians to not have a sense of damn humor, he figured. But he replied easily enough, undisturbed by the comment. [b]"Wh't ever ye say, Feroxian. How 'bout ye, blueblood, willin' t' drink down 'ere?"[/b]

Whether he said yes or no, Jerod excused himself long enough to get either two or three more mugs of booze, handing one off to the lancelot lassie while keeping the second for himself. The third, if he had to grab one, would have went to the blue blood before he sat down at a table, kicking up his feet to rest on the table while leaning back in a chair, listening to the Feroxian give his reasoning for working for the champion, while the blue blood went on training in the mess hall, for some blasted reason. Oh well, he might as well give the lad an answer. [b]"Ach, gold is part o' th' matter, I grant ye tha'. But th' champion lad gonn' need all th' bloody 'elp he can git. 'e needs soldiers, an' I can provide tha'. 'esides, this Church o' Naga ca' give spirituality a ba' name. Don' need compared t' th' bloody zealots, savvy?"[/b]