"Is there some secret book of customs dictating that neither Halflings nor Sorcerers may lead?" A loud and firm voice flew through the air like a thrown dagger, smooth and pointed. The Human who called himself Lucretius stood behind the Halfling, his passage onto the shore both unseen and unheard.

He was a curious companion - a rogue of sorts, with wandering fingers and a tread softer than falling moonlight. Yet whenever he spoke, he drew the attention of all around. Equal parts subtle and bombastic, evasive and rightforth, the Human seemed something of a renaissance man - or at least he claimed to be. His voice itself had a strange quality of it, strangely absent of any imposition yet carrying a force which suggested it would not broker any sort of dissonance. His face was tall and lean, with high cheekbones and narrow eyes the color of the twilight sun. His straight, dark hair fell just past his shoulders, and he wore a neatly trimmed goatee. His garb consisted of hardened, boiled leather drawn under light cloth of a dull coloration. He carried more about his person than any other in the party, both in his pack and secreted about his person, but all of it seemed eerily affixed to his body and issued little to no complaint as he moved.

"You might serve better for our purposes than I, at least within the confines of this wilderness. The dialectics of the jungle lie beyond my particular talents. The sooner we find a town or village, the sooner I can see to the furtherance of our affairs."