Shahk enters the tavern with hope in his head and a rumble in his belly.Things had not been going well in the short month since he'd fled to the city. He'd hoped that he would find refugees from his clan, or at least someone who would take him in. That hadn't gone so well. Many of his brethren were not as calm or druidic as his clan had been. Instead of understanding he'd found near scorn. That led to a sad lack of funds, which was something that he now needed. Shahk had never need coin to survive, and now he was starving for the lack of it.

He shuffles through the tavern to the job board, hoping for something new. His face falls as he sees the same, slightly crumpled piece of paper. He knew what it said, having gotten it translated before. His stomach rumbled again and made his decision. With a heavy sigh he turns and raises his voice into the crowd. "Who wants to kill some rats? Fair split of profits." Somehow he manages to sound both hopeful and morose at the same time.

Skrich looks up and waves the interest token he had taken from the flyer. "Skrich will help with rats, yes yes?"

Brand looks up from the bar for a moment, "If you're going killing, I'm going too. I've sat stagnant in this piss-hole too long," He looks over to the gnolls serving drinks, "No offense, right?"

Skabb shows Jiron one of his map sketches. "Well, i am not exactly studying anything. I am making sketches on city maps. I figured refugees and other travelers like myself could use this as they arrive Dorborden for the first time. So i have tried to make money from selling relatively crude maps to people on the street." Skabb crumples one of the paper sheets into a ball and puts it in his empty glass. "It's not going so well, so it thought i'd get a job from that board over there." Skabb nods in the direction of the board just as Shahk finishes his announcement. "And is seems there are more of us". Skabb opens his backpack, puts his arm on the table and shoves everything on the table, except from the glass with the now soggy paper in it, down into the bag and closes it. He looks expectantly at Jiron. "Now what do you think, Jeeran? You in?"

 "That's a generous thing to do" Jiron says in response to Skabb's effort to make maps. At the orc's offer, Jiron smiles, he wouldn't be alone after all. Then the minotaur spoke up and he goes deathly pale from fear. It feels like it's not just Skabb looking at him, it feels like everyone in the tavern is. He's just about to back out when the contraption slung over his shoulder bumps into the back of the chair. Jiron remembers, he has the Thundercannon, one of the most powerful weapons of the modern day. The pressure seems to shatter like glass, and he thinks, As for the scary minotaur, as long as he's on our side, there's nothing to fear, right. After a couple seconds of Skabb waiting for a response, Jiron puts on a rare, confident smirk. "It's Jiron, and those rats don't stand a chance!"

"I guess we are in, sir orc!" Skabb takes of his glasses and puts them away into a small compartment on the side of the backpack. Nods in the direction Jiron. "As long as i get my fair share of the reward of course. But since you actually are willing to do the job to, i guess you are in some money problems as well". Skabb walks over in the direction of Shahk and reaches out for a hand shake. "I like to know the names of the people i work with. My name is Skabb Spotfur, and you are?"

(On mobile, keeping the dialogue separated so forgive the formatting)

The orc hoped he would get at least one taker. He remains awkwardly standing by the board until there were takers. His eyes flickers over the men brave (or more like desperate) enough to help and they settle on the one speaking directly to him.

Shahk stares at the offered hand. He seems to study the offered appendage, as if he were paging through his memory. Proper reactions... he'd learn this, he had to. He reaches out and takes the very end of the fingertips in a surprisingly delicate hold. As he does this he keeps eye contact, trying to gauge the reaction or get feedback. Close, right?

"I have said the money will be given fairly... is equally better? Is it not customary in this town to honor a spoken promise?"

He sounds far more perplexed than he does upset. Things had been so simple in his home. There he'd understood the social norms and customs, now he was lost.

"I am not from here. My name is Shahk. My homeland was taken from me, and we did not use this, this money there."

At the mention of his home land his fist clenches, his entire body tenses in momentary anger and anguish at the loss. He forces himself to calm just as quickly. Shahk was not the only refugee here.

"We should go now, so we can be done soon."

Brand stands by the door, idly picking at a dry splinter of horn with a dagger, "Thought you lot would never get moving. Are we off to do some dirty work?"

"What is he even doing??"  Skabb is rather perplexed by the fact that the orc doesn't know common courtesy. "Im not quite sure, but show him that you are in charge here"  It's the first time today that his secondary persona has spoken to Skabb. He grabs Shahks hand with both of his and gives him a proper, firm handshake. "An equal share is a fair share" Skabb smiles confidently and grips Shahks hand a little tighter. As Brand utters his impatient remark he turns to reaches out for another handshake and speaks: "And who are you if i may ask. You have already heard my name."

Brand slips his dagger - as much a cleaver by someone else's standards - back into its sheath and crosses his arms at Skaab, "Names are for those deserving or aspiring to be known. That being said, I am only Brand, in name and title." Brand's name was not spoken as much as growled. The introduction seemed to ignite an ember in the minotaur, almost as if being called "Heffer" by the bartender was preferable. It was no stretch of the imagination to see where this title came from. There was no angle that couldn't see one of several dozen scars from savage, deliberate burning.

Skrich shuffles over to the door, waiting expectantly to go. With this many folk, clearing up some rats is likely to be no trouble at all. Then Skrich can get to the real reason he is here in the first place.

"Jiron," the hobgoblin replies, not sure if anyone but Skabb had heard him, as he stands up from hastily sketching a crude design for a giant rat trap. "I hope we'll work well together." The unveiling of Brand's name hadn't done anything to alleviate his fear of the minotaur, but he did his best to use his fading surge of confidence to make sure that that fear didn't show. As he heads out the door, he hesitantly speaks up. "I think it might be an idea to know each others strengths and talents, so we can strategize. I'm a self-taught tinkerer and magic analyst," Jiron swings the carrying strap for the Thundercannon off his shoulder so the others can see, "and hopefully not that bad of a shot."

The moment that Skabb uses both hands so does Shahk, adjusting his grip so that they matched. As he tightened his hold so did the Orc, keeping that almost creepy eye contact as he did so. This seemed rather forward, but he could be flexible.

"Jiron. Brand. Skreee...itch. Skaab."

He repeats back the names given, testing for good pronunciation. That done he turns his focus towards the hobgoblin, keeping pace. "I have been taught in my people's ways. Our skills revolve around the natural world." He eyes the Thundercannon with some interest, they certainly didn't have those in the Misty Woods.

Skabb pulls out his battleaxe tapping it against the iron shield mounted on his back, partially covered in rust. "I prefer going up close and personal, I consider myself capable of shrugging of a hit or two and usually do so in the honor of the third eye of Xati." Skabb starts combing one of his tufts of hair with his fingers. "That is my peoples god of knowledge, it seems tabaxi culture is not as common here in the north" 

Skabb turns to Jiron as he presents his Thundercannon, intrigued by this strange contraption. Something new. Something unknown. Fascination sparks in his eye and his pupils narrow slightly. "What.. What is that beautiful piece of weaponry you have there?" He stretches out a singel claw and looks to Jiron as if he is asking for permission to touch it. It looks like Skabb has forgotten about the whole rat killing business and is entirely focused on the weapon. 

• Jiron smiles nervously as the Thundercannon draws attention. "It's like a bow, but it's much more powerful and a lot harder to dodge."

At Skabb's silent request, Jiron almost seems to snap the gun in half, with a hinge on each side all that keeps it together, as he unlocks the small latches and magnets as he looks down the barrel to make sure it's not loaded before reconnecting it handing it to the Tabaxi with an uncomfortable nod. After a couple seconds he takes it back and slings it back over his shoulder. "Heh, uh... we should be going. I'm sure Skritch and Brand can explain their strengths on the way," he says hastily

As the rest begin filing out, Brand waits outside, idly sharpening a sword with a long, curved blade. For once, he almost seems peaceful, as though the act of maintaining a weapon was cathartic. After a second glance, his horns also seem to have a refreshed luster and the tips seem especially polished...

Skrich shuffles out with the group, looking up with a soft squawk when his name is mentioned. "Skrich has killed squirrels before, yes. Crafty squirrels they were, always chittering at Skrich. Chitter chitter. Chitter chitter. Skrich made them his dinner on the moon-rise night. Rats are like squirrels but squat and smelly with no craft. Skrich will help make them dinner as well." And with that he nods and follows along, picking up the rear.

As the group headed along, Jiron watched out for the Grung he had seen earlier while thinking about his new comrades. He was slowly starting to regret taking the job with this mottly crew; a kenku who referred to himself in the 3rd person, an overly aggressive Minotaur, and a culture shocked orc. The closest one to being normal was Skabb, and even he seemed to fall of his rocker a bit when he set eyes in the Thundercannon.

The hobgoblin gave himself a mental slap as he shook his head. He needed to remember that the entire world wasn't just like Yares or the Elder's Vault. Every humanoid has a drive to discover and learn about the new and unknown, even if that curiosity was supercharged in some people. Heck, curiosity is what drove him to tinkering. He needed to remember that there are very likely cultures out there that he hasn't heard or read about, each with their own unique linguistic styles. He could actually relate to what Shahk was going through. When he first got to Dorborden he was lost and confused as well, considering Yares was the only an eighth the size of the Gorkrag Ward. He didn't know how long Shahk had been in Dorborden, but tried not to Judge.

As for Brand, he knew that there were people out there that thought violence and aggression was the only way through. He knew that there were people out there who didn't know how not to make everyone around them scared. He knew that there were people out there who had a hard time understanding the differences in others. People like Father. Jiron thought

The hobgoblin did his best to shove that thought from his mind, but as the group trudged on, Jiron couldn't help but see that same disapproving and disappointed frown as he looked at the Minotaur walking in front of him.

"As soon as i get the money I need i will leave these guys behind" Skabb tries to keep to the rear of the party as they venture forth towards their rat slaying extravaganza. On their way there he mumbles a couple of things to himself and words and phrases like "funding for an exploration", "temples", "that damn shooter" and "unnecessary job" can be heard as he goes back and forth in a discussion with no one but Skabb and Skabb alone. Each time they turn a street corner Skabb makes a couple of lines on a map sketch. 

The lot of you manage to find this Oikz's home based somewhat off of Skabb's sketches he has made so far of Dorborden. Located in the Muzga Ward, outside and far from the great wall, you find a cramped, tall building. It looks to be an apartment, but it is located in a quite slummy area. A putrid smell akin to animal urine lingers in the air, enough to offend even the most hardened of sensibilities, as you approach the stoop of the home. The windows of this building are completely boarded up... poorly.

A part of you might wonder if this was a mistake, but money is money.

Someone knocks on the door. After a while, the door cracks open a peek. You see a yellow eye peer from beyond the darkness of the door, and you know the person behind the door must be a goblin to be so short. A male voice, sounding somewhat panicked, asks, "You heres bout ma rats?"