A hooded figure walks into the room. He grabs a chair, leans back in it and rests his hooves on the table. His tail curls up from beneath his coat, bringing with it a flask of liquor. As the figure tilts his head back for a drink, you see a face scarred by burns and crowned by horns. The tiefling sighs in relief and scans the room.
“Well, this is interesting crew. I am the best trapsmith around these parts. I am willing to join, if you can afford me.”