"[color=0054a6]Folkmar am I,[/color]" the grey skinned man declared.
	Even as the drunkard he had met the night before, proven not to be a lying drunk, made some form of introduction, Folkmar could see the unease in the faces of those before him. A large, toothy grin spread across his face as he sought to set their minds at ease.
	"[color=0054a6]You look like you've seen a ghost, fellows![/color]" he declared rather loudly, dismounting his beast, and allowing it rest, "[color=0054a6]Orcs don't fear ghosts. Gor-Gashuur gives us strength,[/color]" the orcman remarked in an almost compulsory way.

	He seemed heedless, or at least unphased, by the various creeds, heritages, and origins that were laid out before him, as well as the fact that a woman stood amongst them. They were all armed, and that was enough. Seeing one individual gripping a polearm nervously, Folkmar nudged the leather pouch at his beast's side which contained his wrapped lance, giving a proud smirk. It appeared as though he was attempting to incite kinship with those who also favored weapons of superior reach.

	When the rotund merchant arrived with jangling pouches adorning his person, Folkmar raised an eyebrow curiously. Never had he seen someone like this, all soft and taken with riches. He seemed to have some worry about the group, particularly aimed at Folkmar and the woman.
	"[color=0054a6]Something in our teeth?[/color]" he remarked quietly, but allowed the conversation between he and Varian the ex-drunkard to continue.

	The more that the situation was described to Folkmar, the wider his smile became. The raven that followed him perched momentarily on the merchant, before fluttering to cling upon the haft of a nearby halberd, hanging off the side and bobbing its head to keep balance.
	"[color=0054a6]Thirty men in a fortress you say. Shouldn't be a problem,[/color]" Folkmar replied, rolling his shoulder to remove the shield from his back, tapping it against the divot in his armor which served as a couch for his lance, "[color=0054a6]Shouldn't be a problem with this lot to back me up,[/color]" the explanation was for the most part done, but one fellow, calling himself Osmund, had seemed worried at the prospect of twenty blokes, while one seemed ill.
	The raven's head quirked to be almost parallel to the ground, but upsidedown compared to it, while perched sideways on the ill-man's halberd, before cawing out.
	"[color=0054a6]You alright there fellow?[/color]" Folkmar asked, gesturing with a leather clad hand to the one his raven had deigned to accompany, "[color=0054a6]You look a little clammy around the neck. Got a bit of a shake, have you? Hope it won't disturb your haft-holding arm.[/color]"

	Folkmar then turned, standing proudly, with his best winning grin, and leveled his eyes to the merchant, to address him directly for the first time.
	"[color=2e3192]Now, why would honest working folks such as ourselves feel a need to have pay come at any time other than after a job's done? What honesty's in it being split into three sums now? What honesty would there be in not doing a task that's agreed upon, eh? No, I think there's better reward than your two hundred pieces after the spoils are laid bare.[/color]"