The half-elf looked unremarkable. Short hair, either very dark brown or black, the drunkard could not tell, but he could see it was parted right at the middle of the hiring man's head, pointing in differing directions - the right half beaming to the right, and the left beaming to the left. An eccentric hairstyle, to be sure, but that probably came with the vane nature of elves, and as the owner of the threadlike growth was of elvish decent, it was understandable. His face was more ordinary, more human in appearance.

 A wrinkle ran through his forehead, as well as a scar, which nicely complimented the sign of age. His eyebrows were thin, but retained a measure of thickness that indicated the masculine nature of their wearer. Beneath them, a pair of slanted, dark brown eyes were intently looking at the drunk, with short, uneven lashes adorning the lids. A big, ugly nose divided them, and beneath the nostrils snaked its way a well defined philtrum, reaching down to the upper lip of the thin, pursed mouth. His overall skin tone was reminiscent of the color tawny, betrayed only by the narrow, slightly pointed ears, which had a more reddish tone.

 The clothes Urdal wore were simple, but at the same time somewhat exotic. He wore a gray shirt, over which rested another piece of clothing, reminiscent of a shirt, but with a triple in width hole of the head, resulting in the ends of the opening resting at the edges of his shoulders, color being a dirty beige, accented with red lines running through the fabric. The short sleeves, leaving more than three fourths of his arms uncovered, hid the initial point at which dirty bandages had been applied, serving as a makeshift replacement for actual sleeves. There was a thick belt, as wide as both of his hands placed next to each other, made out of leather, located on his stomach. The shirts hung loosely over his crotch area. His pants were a pair of black, baggy trousers, creating the illusion that his legs were four times thicker than they actually were. They ended right beneath his knees, stuffed into a pair of well crafted leather boots of the same dirty beige which covered his upper body.

"Twenty-four thousand gold... You'll have it once the job is done!" Announced Urdal and figured the recruitment for this drunk man was complete. Outstretching his hand in an attempt to shake his companion's respective limb, he figured it would be appropriate to ask for the name of his newfound comrade.

"What was your name?"