[color=6ecff6][center][h2]Tulvar[/h2][/center][/color]

The heavy footfalls of the Nord in plate signaled his approach before he even touched the door. He was on the larger side, even for a Nord, and had to turn just slightly to fit his massive shoulders through the doorway. He sported an impressive beard of a shade just darker than honey and adorned by a few iron beads. Strapped to his back was a weighty battle axe and as if that wasn't enough, he carried a sword on his hip. He glanced around at the group assembled and made no attempt to hide the disdain in his eyes as they passed over the Dunmer. To Flavia, the obvious leader of the party, he nodded respectfully.

[color=6ecff6]"Apologies,"[/color] he said, with a voice low and rumbling like far off thunder, [color=6ecff6]"I took a wrong turn."[/color]

Flavia held herself like a true warrior and he had no doubt she would be a great ally. The others gave him pause, however. An assortment of soft archers, softer mages, and diplomats who appeared softer still. It seemed they had bucket of milksops with two ingots. Either their cuts would grow or the company would hire actual warriors rather than stick shakers and game hunters playing mercenary; both outcomes suited him just fine.