Alaric had left Vor'loch and the others to prepare for their arrival. He had managed to fashion an outfit with little more than his old robes, and some apparel he had been given by the troopers after arriving. He also cannibalized his boots, and his utility belt. In about an hours time, he had affected the look of a typical (if that word could be applied to one of his people) feeorin thug. Ankle-high leather boots, wrapped in strips of brown fabric to soften his footfalls.Form-fitting tan leggings, around which was slung a (now considerably looser) belt, where he figured he could sling a blaster. He wore the upper third portion of his cloak, having torn the arms and most of the hood away. His hood now allowed his tenacles to fall freely down his upper back, and he had savaged his tunic to secure what was left of his cloak to his torso. The upper portions of his boots had been turned into bracers, and were bound to his forearms with more strips of fabric.

Altogether, Alaric seemed to be fairly chaotic, at least in terms of dress. Fitting enough for the moon, in his opinion.

When he was finished, and feeling no small amount of self-consciousness despite his attempt to remain aloof, he found his way to the others, and approached the group as a whole.

"I... Have no idea what I could pretend to be. None of my experience involved subterfuge. Just... Plugging up holes in people..." He said, grimmacing sheepishly and averting his eyes from the room as a whole.