Among the many types of people to enter the Whit Hart Inn came a rather plain, if not slightly unkempt looking fellow wearing a deep scowl upon his face. Perhaps the only things that would have given anyone pause with this man would have been the startling yellow shade of his eyes, the sack filled with various furs that he carried on his back, and the fact that the fur lined jacket that he wore was immaculately clean despite the rest of his person sporting the look of a man whom had spent time sleeping in a cave. This man went by the name of Jacque, though that was hardly important at the moment. What was important was the fact that Jacque was rather pissed. 

After having spent the last week on a hunting expedition and bagging himself a rather sizable elk and a few foxes of varying colors, he'd returned in hopes of making a profit from the parts of the animals that he had no use for. What meat he didn't keep for himself after drying it all was sold off to one of the local butchers, and the bones sold to some merchants to do with them whatever they saw fit, be it to turn them into tools or grind them up for medicine. As he lacked either the space or need for those items the gods had chosen to allow this to pass, however they swiftly changed their tunes when Jacque was offered a sizable amount of cash for the furs he had. Jacque had been mere moments from sealing the deal when he'd begun to here the unintelligible whispers of Slyvania in his ears. For the life of him the huntsman still could not understand the elven tongue that she used, however over the years he'd come to understand that she only stepped in to warn him that he was about to do something that would anger her. After being forced to cancel the deal, Jacque had taken it upon himself to visit the inn in the hopes that a stiff drink or two would help soothe his displeasure over the loss of profit and perhaps help him figure out what to do with the pelts. 

Jacque grumbled something under his breath as he took in the atmosphere of the Inn before he slipped his bag from his shoulders and claimed  a small table near the bar. His seating secure, Jacque allowed his eyes to wander a bit as he waited for the barmaid to slip away from the rowdy drunks crowding her so that she could take the orders of other patrons. At first nothing struck the huntsman as particularly interesting, there were the usual sights: drunken brawlers, lechers trying to get into the skirt of the female workers or patrons by lowering their inhibitions with drinks, and an adventurer or two looking to brag about their exploits. All fairly normal, nothing worth a second glance.