The Halfling's feet swung back and forth through the air, kicking thoughtlessly, as he sat near the bar (the only place with seats high enough to allow him to eat while doing so) munching away at a particularly excessive breakfast.  Alvin could not say when he might be back in an Inn or even if he would and so he would take advantage of the time he had.  More sausages then he could eat in a sitting, more potatoes than was at all reasonable for so small a man.  A generous meal even for a full grown man, let alone a Halfling.  His belly would be full when the trip began, he would hold on to the leftovers to make it up to his dogs for they would have to carry his feast heavy arse around this morning.  They sat near him, happy faces knowing full well that their master would never finish his meal and they would glean the benefit of his gluttonous eyes.

Between the simple but comforting food and good ale Alvin scarcely looked up from the table as the darkly garbed Bretonnian came in from the morning, sipping slowly at some schnapps, leaning against the wall.  Outwardly he scarcely seemed to notice the tension when the other Bretonnian entered, though he listened in intently.  Matters of family honor and vows, Alvin had always admired the Bretonnians for that.  The hearth and home never far from a Halfling's mind, particularly one who had wandered as far as he had.  Kith and Kin, all that.  

With a bit of his sad story told Jehan left and Alvin decided it was time he pack up and depart for the Town Square.  He'd likely taken too long at his breakfast, mustn't be too late.  Alvin's body protested as he slid off his stool, then with a slight nod to Guy de le Guerre he headed up to his room with his dogs close at his heels, them still smelling the delightful sausages and potatoes he had emptied into his pockets for later.

Most of Alvin's packing had been done the night before to grant him more time to indulge in his customary pre-adventure smorgasboard so there was not much more to be done.  His dogs, Woof and Bark, sat obediently beside the door as he strapped some of his belongings to them, careful too keep his pockets containing the food far from their faces.  They were well behaved, well trained, but it's never wise to tempt a dog with something as tasty as Rosine's cooking.  He slotted his knife into his belt sheath, slung his quiver over one shoulder and his bow over the other, then dug back in to one of his bags to find a particular snack that one among the party was liable to appreciate.  He didn't have much of it, tough as it was he could only ever worry away at a tiny piece, but the Dwarf may well appreciate it, the old Dwarven delicacy Traggot, boiled wolf hide.  He would make a powerful ally, and a solid wall to hide behind.   

He headed back down the stairs, the two dogs following side by side, and quickly made his way out the door and to the Town Square, where indeed the party seemed to be assembling rapidly.  The journey was about to begin.  He belched.