"My name is Medskan Mystan of the house Mystan" he nods at Mikhael "I have been sent by my order on the rumors of trouble in this area"  

"or because i am the most expendable" he mutters lowly 

"What sort of trouble?" Mikhael asks, taking another gulp of his drink. "Maybe I could help you out... I can cast spells, you know."

"what sort is what is what i am here to find out"  He smiles a half smile

Slowly but surely a tall tortle finds his way into the tavern door. He looks pretty old in his age, or at least, wrinkly. Rugged green skin with a deep green shell with black accents as well as lighter white accents. In his left hand he carries a rough looking self-crafted spear, red wood shaft, with a rough metal tip. In the right he is currently grasping a piece of rope with 2 fish tied to it, one on each end. He has 3 pouches strung together by rope that is wrapped around his whole shell keeping them in place. "I - I have fish from the neighboring river, would anyone care for some." He announces while walking towards the bar.

"Tha's fair." Mikhael responds and downs the remainder of his drink. "I can't turn a blind eye to potential trouble, and you seem like an upstanding fellow. I'll give you a hand." 

Medskan smiles again "That would be appreciated friend"

Mikhael extends his scaled right hand "It's no trouble at all. Now I wonder where we could get some information..." He trails off when the Tortle enters the room. 

Medskan clasps Mikhaels hand wrist to wrist

then also looks at the tortle

Mikhael, realizing his rudeness, stops staring. He looks over to Medskan with slightly embarrassed grin. "Want me to go ask around? I can try to chat up some of the other patrons... I'll  be back with intel and or food." 

"As you wish, I figure wait here til morning then find the magistrate, but a little prior intel wouldn't be bad"

Mikhael nods and approaches the tortle. "Hello there. My name's Mikhael Frostmoon. I was wondering if you'd know any local rumors. Any sort of trouble been happening recently? I'm new in town and it pays to be informed. Nice spear by the way, did you make it yourself?" The young man's eyes are practically luminous with inquisitive drive. 

"Oh ho ho, young one. Take a breath." As he takes a deep breath of his own. "I know not of this town, just arrived her myself. I found a river and decided to catch something to share with the locals before a well deserved nap." Looking at his spear and chuckling to himself "Ah ho ha. It is a fascinating spear, isn't it? This is my seventeenth one. Would you care for a meal and a story?"

"I've already ordered a meal, but I do like a good story." Mikhael says. "Just to pass the time. Come, sit." 

A young human man barges loudly into the tavern, immediately making his way to the bar.  "Ma'am, a good stiff drink please, something that will burn nice on the way down.  Then an ale to enjoy afterwards."  He nods his head in reverence, then loudly drops his pack next to the bar, his shield ringing for all to hear.  On his hip is a good quality scimitar, nothing fancy, all utilitarian.  Cradled in his arm is a crossbow, held like a mother trying to put a baby to sleep.  It is also nothing fancy, but very well maintained.  

Turning to the small gathering, the man shrugs, then bellows like a sergeant on parade, "Name's Kalman.  I'm here cause the town needs savin' and savin' towns is what I do.  I'll do it myself if it comes to that, but a good squad gets more done quicker.  I'm looking for a good team, but I don't want no bullcrap leader that makes boneheaded plans where 1 in 10 casualties is acceptable, then hides in tents and gets a majority share of the pay for making the hard choices.  I'm done with armies and companies.  Pass the word around, Kalman is looking for work and a solid squad!"

With his announcement finished, he turns back to the bar, sits and waits for Durbun to serve him his drinks.

Medskan watches the newcomer intently

Mikhael leaves the tortle for a moment and addresses Medskan. "The shouty one seems to share our goals, maybe we should try to get his help. I didn't get much gossip from the tortle, he's also new here. At the very least this 'kalman' fellow is a lead."

"I think that he has just arrived as well, based on his statement"

"Fair enough, but all I want to know is what I'm getting into. Bandits? Zombies? Wyverns? What is it that is the threat?" 

A very, very dour dwarf walks up to the tavern.  He looks at the sign, then sighs and enters the bar.  He orders a drink with a mumbled whisper, then finds a seat.  He seems very withdrawn.   The sharp eyed among might notice he has manacles around both wrist, with broken links, as if he is an escaped prisoner.  He speaks up, saying, "I dare say this is a rather eclectic group.  The winds of fate blow strong today."

Kalman glances over to the dwarf and says loudly with a straight face, "Sorry, had beans for lunch."