Separated from his group he needs a drink, the bottle of Elkheart Whiskey he was able to loot from some alcoholic witches tower has long since dried up. The half elf wanders here out of necessity, it's been a difficult road, traveling with difficult individuals and feeling as tense as he was about the entire situation of being the only member in the club of giving a damn, maybe this is needed, a small reprieve, a break. Let them all deal without him for now, he's always on the front of the line, always alone there and it's cumbersome but maybe it's the curse of the fighter. HIs head still hurts from where a magical thumb print was placed, rather harshly by the same alcoholic wizard, being pulled slowly into the world of druids.

It's all new, it's all painful and he just needs a drink.

At the bar he seems uncomfortable in the clothes he wears; this is not what he is used to, it was provided to him and he would grumble about it but it is a rare luxury. He does not stand tall, he is slim, his eyes are grey, his skin tanned, his hair black and pulled back into a small bun, two harpy feathers tied up amongst the style, he looks exhausted but pleased enough to have both hands around a mug of ale looking like he would happily drown in it. This place is strange, it is new, but it's not where he just came from so that is fine by him.