Next to enter was the Ice Mage. Volodymyr, Vladimir, Waldemar, however he called himself, the man walked straight and tall but not particularly imposing or even noticeable, to one not paying much attention. He dismounted just outside knowing perfectly well that his faithful companion would stay outside exactly where he was, at most moving a metre or two to graze. He left one sword and his staff there, keeping the lighter blade on his purpose. Vlad stopped outside before walking inside. It was quite the journey that got him to this point in life. From having everything he could want at a simple word of a doting father, to long and boring yet almost paradoxically restless time of study, and at last selling his skills to the highest or - if luck was bad - first bidder. 

The young man considered how to present himself to the audiences there. He knew it would be  quite rag-tag, but he didn't know exactly who he would meet. He had been only in Reikland and Kislev before, and was only exposed to those cultures in real amounts. Oh he had went to the Elven, Dwarfen, and other quarters of the city and seen a glimpse of what the world had to offer. Yet it was but a glimpse, and he knew what he would get himself into would likely end up in more than a glimpse, particularly if his talents carried his name. The youth wondered if he would get a chance to ever see home again. Obviously under a disguise, but still there as himself. His train of thought lead him to more and more anger. Why had his own kinsmen forsaken him? He wasn't destroying the bloody North as the damned witch prophecies said he would, he was just an ordinary man who had something he never even asked for stuck to him. Oh he heard that they could get his powers away, and that thus he could roam Kislev freely once more. Yes he could remember some of the people who had that happen to them, now realizing why they were such. They were like cats neutered with a pair of scissors or hedge clippers as in the good traditions of Kislev. Aimless, quiet, unimaginative and dull if not precisely stupid. Maybe that was part of removing the magics from him? 

Vlad shook his head and got the thoughts out of his head. Brimming with emotion he already felt exhausted from the uncontrolled release of magics this brought, covering his hands in frost and even an icicle or two. Slapping the icicles off of his hands he sighed again. Life was bloody unfair, and after wiping a tear away with a still frosty hand the lad walked over to the doors. Instinctively from his noble days he banged his boots together to get the mud off of them, the steel caps making sparks as they clanged together. The man entered, and looked around. He knew that his Northman features with eyes slanted like a Cathay or Nippon man would make him noticed, if the big fur hat and cultural sword did not. From his first step in he already got a taste of the exotic, staring an elf in the face. He didn't particularly care for their kind other than appreciating their magic, but in any other respect they were annoying, arrogant, and soft bastards he wanted not much dealings with. There was also a Dwarf, who he didn't particularly care for much either. The stunties were just as if not more arrogant, and even more pathetic in their grudging and disgusting greed. But they were a kind that valued strength and one's ability to hold liquor, so they were just a shred above elves in his humble opinion. He wiped the rest of the melting icicles and frost from his hands and looked to the barkeep. Yes, for now he'd have to play the Kislevite drunkard until he got a better lay of the land. 

Walking exaggeratedly from one foot to the other, the Northerner got to the bar and banged a single large but thick gold coin down, from a pouch that probably held quite a bit more from it's apparent weight. "Any Vodka or Horelka for a good customer?" he said, rolling his Rs with the stereotypical but admittedly true style of the Gospodar tongue. "I have been going horse for long time, and I vant vodka after travel. You can provide, da? If you have, then a round of it for everyone on me!" He said, with a wave of a slightly damp fist. He leaned a bit closer to the barkeep presumably after the last interaction was done and said "I vant to kno' if there is vork here. Good vork, something long lasting with decent pay, for someone that can fight and has... special talents." It was right to the point, but such was the way of the Gospodar folk.