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Numair al-Din was not a fan of travelling. His feet hurt, and his back ached from not having time to properly pack it at the last stop. That was why for most of the journey, he wore a stern frown. Numair liked to work at extremes. Working hard to overcome a goal, or partying hard in a local inn, but travelling was travelling. It wasn't exciting or fun. It just had to be done. 
With the village coming into sight, Numair smirked. The idea of a cold pint and a warm meal was pleasing to his travel-weary soul. Pulling his back further up his back, to retighten a strap that had come loose over the course of the journey. [color=DE00FF]"Ah, finally."[/color] He readjusted the way his swords were hanging on his hip. [color=DE00FF]"This town better have a tavern that serves decent beer."[/color] He paused as he considered his expectations of decent beer in a rural hamlet such as Avveel. [color=DE00FF]"Or just beer."[/color] Numair decided the promise of decent beer that was served cold would be a bit much to ask for. Plus, to be fair, he couldn't give to shits how it tasted as long as it took the edge off. After travelling with this lot for the past three days, he's earned a drink, or three, or five.

With newfound energy, he continued on down the path with his merry band of [i]friends[/i]. They were an interesting group. Numair wondered what sort of adventures a Mercenary, two healers and himself would get up to in the days to come. His hand brushed his coin pouch, seeing if he had enough to indeed get drunk in this town. He frowned as it was lighter than he would have liked. Numair sighed, as he remembered he forgot to receive his commission from the Order back in Giron. While it would carry over, and he would be able to collect twice as much next time he was heading that way, he wouldn't have enough to afford a room, and get drunk in this town. Numair just hoped against hope that the Order of the Raven had a satellite office in this hamlet where he could pick up a small commission. However, it was extremely unlikely.