Scanning the room, you note a handful of large vermin seated at a table. They talk amungst themselves and seem to share a pitcher, without bothering to pour into cups. Many are wearing costume jewelry, one decked out with a tail-ring. He sounds like a louder version of the squeeking rats common along the streets of the city. He has leather armor on with bits of fur sticking through the seams, a backpack in between his clawed feet, and bottles percariously attached to a belt. Filthy rat, you look to see who else is about.
A sudden "pop" ripples through the place. "...And here we are in the lovely port of Dunspar!" beams a half-elf who's just appeared in the shadow of the stairwell. He appears to be speaking to a parrot, drably colored for such a bird, that perches skeptically on his shoulder. As they emerge from the shadows to the stares and japes of the crowd you notice the lad is draped in a brilliant red cape, trimmed in gold thread, but otherwise adorned with the garb of The Shackles.
"Ahr-mand, you half and excuse of a wizard!" the parrot berates him with a thick French accent, "This is WORSE then the time you launched us into the Ghost Tower at Inverness!" the parrot seems to roll it's eyes and buries it's face under a wing. "Enri," Armand warns, "don't make me get the cage..."