Illarion.org

WANTED: DRINKING CREW.

Greetings all. Names Rogan, and I'm new to town, and since I know hardly anyone, I thought I'd leave this message.

I'm looking for a few likeminded individuals, perhaps those who are also newcomers, to meet up with me every now and then for boozing, chatting up the local eyecandy, generally having some fun, and maybe making a bit of coin too (by legal means, of course).

Looking forward to hear from you.

Rogan Thorgrim.

The rather slim northern hunter, he might have been about 16 or 17 summers under the wolfskin he used as a hood, recognized the notice and put it off, following his usual path into the tavern.

"Morn, Borgate, ol' fella... How are ye terday?"

He stepped forward to the bar, picking a certain chair he sat down and grinned to a questioning "Arr?" of the dwarven barkeeper.

"Aye, y'are damn righ'. Same as usual. Wha'? If me sis' is commin' too? Well, she said so, so ye can count on her arrivin' termorrow the latest, aye?"

He blinked, and then nodded to the empty place next to him. "She will need the same as usual too." Frowning, he took out the parchment, finally, and slid it over the blank wood into Borgate's hands. "Who's tha' Rogan guy anyways? Did ye meet him already?"

He nodded to another "Arr" and took a first deep draw of his cold beer. "An' apart from tha', anythin' unusual in tha' stinkin' rathole Bane? Nay? Well, ye should definitely start advisin' people ter close yer doors in winter. Those bleedin' Baners'll never get the point o' doors I'm afraid. An' also tell them not ter stick stuff at yer door if ye don' like it."

Another "Arr" made him laugh out resoundingly.