Just inside and to the right of the the entryway door to The Limping Nag a tall, imposing figure leaned against the wall. Even in the warm dimness of the Tavern's interior, the tall figure's armour glinted with a bright silvery sheen in places where it was not covered by the massive ivory lion pelt cloak which hung from the figure's broad shoulders. On the figure's left shoulder, the one nearest the entryway door, the huge lion-head pauldron roaring in silent defiance at anyone who entered the tavern. This was intentional, as the tall figure was currently tasked with keeping the peace in the tavern, and so wanted all who entered to get a good glimpse of the symbol of his conquest. This would hopefully deter any would-be troublemakers who wandered in from the Reikland countryside. If it did not, the figure would part his cloak to reveal his massive greataxe. That almost always did the trick. 

 The figure's name was Galadred, though nearly everyone around these parts called him The Lion, or simply Lion if conversation was lighthearted. Due to his heavy (for his people) build, and his short hair, it was not immediately obvious that Galadred was an elf. The truth of his heritage was further disguised by the scar which marred his would-be handsome face, though it did not make him truly ugly by any means. His ears were sharp and pointed, however, and anyone who had been lucky enough to visit the city of Lothern on Ulthuan would likely recognize his armour as being made of Ithilmar, a metal which only came from that enchanting island nation. These things gave him away, but in the company of the Guild it mattered little what race one was. What truly mattered was one's goals, and one's capability to fulfill them.

 Currently, however, Galadred found himself to be somewhat rudderless, and without much in the way of purpose. He had taken up the responsibility of keeping safe the Limping Nag, a service that allowed him room and board thanks to an arrangement with the innkeep Ludolf, who had apparently (impressively) recognized Galadred as a former White Lion of Chrace, and realized that he would make an excellent guard and muscleman should the need arise. Without anything on his plate in the way of mercenary work, Galadred had accepted gladly. That had been three months ago. Three months of intimidating peasants out of bar-brawls and guarding a door. Galadred sighed deeply at the thought, allowing himself a moment to think back to the sprawling palaces and grand vistas he had once defended. That trail of thought lead inevitably to wounds that he would rather not re-open, however, and so he forced the thought from his mind, scanning the room for any persons of potential interest. There were certainly a few interesting characters about nowadays.

 He found himself thinking that what he really needed was an adventure. To travel, perhaps. He needed to see if there was anything in this world truly rivaling the beauty of Ulthuan. He doubted he would find any such majesty, but his heart ached for it nonetheless. He hoped seemingly beyond hope that some stranger from a far off land would enter the tavern in search of capable warriors for some errand. He had hoped for some such event for the better part of the last three months, to no avail.