[h3][color=44833C][b]STUR[/b][/color][/h3]
__________

Those with lesser mettle parted around Stur in a steady stream, headed for the doors at the opposite end of the hall. He supposed he did not blame them; there were easier ways to make coin in Koprust, many of which didn't involve throwing your life away. Nobody with a home to return to or a promising life ahead of them would walk willingly towards the Fog. Stur rolled his shoulders slowly in anticipation as the king finished his hopeful entreaty to the few that remained. He had learned well over the years that having one of these soft lowlander nobles indebted to you was a very useful thing indeed, and he intended to take full advantage of the opportunity, whatever the potential cost. 

He eyed those that stepped forward first with some suspicion, looking them over. Before coming to this cursed place, he had scarcely seen other civilized races than his own - the occasional Orcish raiding party on the northern borders of his land, maybe, and a few half-elves in the columns of Ephreian regulars - and he sometimes felt that he was still getting used to their various oddities. In particular, he kept an eye on the big red lizard. Stur never let his guard down around those fortunate enough to be taller than him.

There was a brief lull. He stepped forward. [i]Gods, I could use a drink.[/i]

"I am Stur." He let the name speak for itself. "I've pulled many free of the talons of death, sire. I'll find your boy for you."