Esailia adjusted the bow in its harness on her back. Humans. Always so...bustling. It reminded her of an anthill, and her next thought was what might happen if a properly sized ant eater were to walk up to the town and start doing what they do for a living. It brought a smile to her lips. She always had these strange thoughts, always imagining the fantastic and unreal. Kept her mind sharp, and it's also why she was in town. The elf had met a passing trader, and heard of this poster. "Adventurers wanted. Bah. They want cannon fodder." She mumbled to herself, as she usually did.

But she had come to this town anyway, seeking to gain some human currency. After she had pretty much self banished herself from her people, she's been needing things others can make and she could not gain from the forest or her own hand. Arrowheads, whetstones, clothing. Sometimes even food. She had used up what human currency she had collected over the years on a single week after leaving her village.

She headed to the Rusty Mug, of which the trader spoke of, and slipped inside, her hood concealing her race. She could not, however, hide her gender, as much as she wished to. The cloaked elf whispered through the tavern, taking an empty table near the corner of the room, and settled in to wait...