[hr][center][@Hekazu] [color=tan]The Unnamable[/color][/center][hr]Most people around chose to respond to words with more of the sort. The question on the nature of the land was debated by a man of grim disposition and his new friend alike, both speaking past the man that had just welcomed them. How rude. But rudest was the man who prepared their weapon and threatened those around. The hunched man took a few careful steps away from the individual and slowly moved his left hand closer to the handle of his mace. Well, "his" as much as any rusted bludgeoning instrument found on the ground. But it was on his person now, and wasn't that what actually mattered here? 

The herald joined the attempt of getting the aggressive one under control, assuring the fresh arrivals of those already gathered having no ill will towards them. The purple eyes of the puppeteer met the blank ones of the gypsy, questioning if they were as devoid of sight as they looked like. Yet they would welcome them all amongst them. A blind greeter, most unusual. 

These musings were cut short by a flagon striking the ground before him, startling the man who had been too focused on his thoughts to register the approach of the flying object. With his already low stance, he needn't go through much trouble to pick it up in his free hand. The first thing he did was have George help him with the lid and smell the liquid. Was that... mint? More confused than a moment ago, he let it fall closed once more, just as they were all invited to drink. A drink before a story.

[hr][center][@William Cade] [color=navajowhite]Egil[/color][/center][hr]Many fights have gleaned across his eyes as many shouts of war have rung through his ears. This didn't look or sound like a fight. The worn fighter relaxed his grip and his stance. It seemed as though while the others were not lost, it was more than likely they didn't belong either. 

Where Egil is from, a smile might as well be a knife in your back; neither heat nor hospitality comforted him. His dingy chain shirt made a dull clank as he carefully moved forward to take a look at the cup and its gift-bearer. 

[color=navajowhite]"I wouldn't drink from that."[/color]

[hr][center][@Lady Selune] [b][color=darkmagenta]Mhyrienne - The Mildly Suspicious[/color][/b][/center][hr]Her fellows were already turning out to be a more than a curious bunch. The jester hadn't answered, but instead she had gotten a message from one of the compatriots. The Demiplane of Dread. Forsaken by the Gods. She let out a mirthless laugh. If the Gods didn't come here, she'd be more than happy to stay then. Of course, how her companion had known was a query in and of itself, and she would ask that at a more prudent time. 

Then the bickering. The instantly-aggressive fighter, tempered by a man oddly comfortable... No, not a man. Another one of the races along with men. Not an elf, not one like her, certainly not, but for now she couldn't tell.

As the other man spoke, she nodded, cautiously. [color=darkmagenta]"True. Fighting would be mighty foolish."[/color] Looking at the tossed flagon, she stared at it. That seemed... Suspicious. Very much so. [color=darkmagenta]"Worst thing is it's poison. Not that bad."[/color]

[hr][center][@Hekazu] [color=tan]The Unnamable[/color][/center][hr]Conflicting words rose from those around him. The herald who had welcomed them had implored them to drink and hear his tale, while the others seemed to think something was afoul with all this. In this realm that gods themselves avoided, there could be anything! Tales of treasure, of desperation, of love or perhaps loss? What the tales were mattered little, but he wanted to know them. If all it took to uncover these secrets was a sip from a slightly suspicious flagon that smelled like something he knew, he would take the risk. 

Before raising the most unconventional tankard to his lips, he would glance at the suspicious ones from the corner of his eyes. [color=tan]"George would like to remind you that you are standing before the man who offered, criticizing, doubting, blaming"[/color], he notified the outspoken ones of their poor manners. And then he raised the pitcher higher, holding it in clear view for everyone to see. [color=tan]"A cup! A cup for thirsty lips who only have a tankard of the most inconvenient sort, please!"[/color][hr]