Marak Quan's page

Marak makes no pretense of not watching the spellcasting with interest, and rolls up his scroll and puts it away. Note to self, I need some scroll cases and extra paper and charcoal for rubbings. he thinks idly, gesturing for a refill of whatever watered-down ale he's currently drinking.

He also notes that a young woman with dramatically red-dyed hair also appears to have noticed the sage and taken an interest. Unlike the others, she is unarmored, with suggests an arcanist. Certainly not a monk, as they are said to more ascetic and less concerned with cosmetics.

Noting that the other group has continued to converse with Ilsoari, he waits until they have finished their current business before rising to introduce himself.

Marak is on his guard in this unfamiliar town, which is ironic, considering how much safer it probably is than the sorts of places he grew up frequenting in Absalom, and so his head perks up from the rubbings of Thassilonian runes he is examining, when others seem to be talking about him.

Seeing the leather-armored tribesman with twin blades, he quickly marks him as a warrior of some sort, probably a berserker, if the rumors about their fierce fighting styles are true, while the chain-shirted fellow with the morning star seems to his eyes an obvious fellow cleric, although he doesn't see a holy symbol prominently displayed, so his faith remains a mystery.

'Still, adventurous sorts, and if any would know more of these ruins in my dreams, it would be a tribesman who may have grown up among their shadows.' he thinks.

He raises his mug towards the speakers, and then frowns as he notices that it appears to have gone empty...

Here he is, minus the hit points and any equipment changes to be determined pending.