They were an awkward bunch. The most unlikely group you think you would see. But then again I guess adventuring attracts characters from all walks of life.

Bardin, although being the shortest of the lot, was the first I noticed. Having closed the tavern door behind me it was his loud grunting of words that rose above the ideal chatter that filled the Dripping Wench. I quickly located the source of the grunting and identified him to be a short brown-haired dwarf with a sizable beard. He seemed to be dressed in combat leathers and carried himself in a way not dissimilar from members of the rogues guild. Next to him, but also above, as she was considerably taller, was Elara. A middle aged elvish woman who donned a silk shirt that clung to her ample cleavage, loose brown pants, and a long bow strapped to her back. To her left was the excitable young woman I would come to know as Fienie. She leant over the table, her elbows propped up with her chin resting on her hands. Her back was bent slightly, accentuating her nice rear which was constricted by tight, black leather pants.

“Hi my name’s Fred” I boldly announced to the three of them. “I’m looking for adventure, do you have room for a fourth?”

“I’m Bardin. What can you do, pipsqueak? We could use another pair of hands, but only if the contribution matches a quarter of the cut.” Said Bardin.

“I’m a fighter.” I said as I unsheathed my shortsword. “There’s nothing I can’t slash with my trusty sword.”

Fienie stood up, wrapped her hand around my bicep and looked toward Baridn and Elara.