The Snake's Hand
As the last light of day slowly shrinks beneath the horizon, the five weary newcomers enter through the small bar's only door. The barkeep gives them a brief smile before returning to his duties. In the back corner, just by the warm glow of the fireplace, the bar's only patrons await them. A man possibly in his late fifties, with black hair, the early signs of gray setting in, well built, wearing a wolf's skin cloak. A knight with gleaming white armour, a massive claymore attached to his back. A woman wreathed in black cloth, a bow strapped across her chest. A red-haired dwarf, furiously tinkering with a gun-like contraption. And a young girl, presumably in her twenties, constantly writing in a leather-bound tome.
The oldest man addresses the new-comers. "Only five?" His voice is deep, though not as rough as one might assume upon first glance. "I had hoped for at least a few more. Luna, fetch us some drinks m'dear." The girl with the book immediately leaps to her feet and heads for the bar. "My name is Alistair Wolff. 39th Grandmaster of the Phari. These are my colleagues, Captain Ceres Branwick." The knight nods. "Journeyman Rina Farrah" The woman with the bow bows, "Balous Longtooth, our blacksmith." He gestures to the dwarf. "And Luna Perdin, our scribe is the girl who just went to fetch us drinks."
"When the White towers fell, us four came here. Samuel, the owner, is an old friend. He's allowed us to use the rooms upstairs in return for a small fee." He glances around the room. "But I am not familiar with any of you. Please, introduce yourselves." Luna returns with 7 mugs of beer. Without even looking, Balous down one of them.