OOC: Actually, only one Zesk. The other two high-tailed it outta there once their compatriot was shot in the leg.
[color=#b22222;]For every warrior out here in the desert, there is at least one person who'd rather stay inside with a cool drink in his hand than go and get his tail kicked fighting every random Vorox who wandered through. For example, I, Mr. Raleo Dupoint, would almost exclusively be found in the latter category, having decided to stay in my nice little corner table at Madam Imadam's with a glass of house ale while everyone else (including the actual bartender) decided to go on some wild hunt for something which wanted to kill them.[/color]
[color=#b22222;]And they say I'm weird.[/color]
[color=#b22222;]Glancing at the current occupants of the inn, my gaze settled upon a fellow Agori of the fire tribe, whose dusty red armour was covered by a brown coat, and who seemed to be nursing a glass of water and muttering to himself. In an instant, I weighed the potential ramifications of both talking to him, and leaving him be, before finally moseying over to where he sat and climbing onto the stool next to him.[/color]
[color=#b22222;]"Fine weather 'e're havin' today, eh?" I mused aloud, "Good time for a fight with something that'll probably rip yer throat out..."[/color]
OOC: That would be Hejat he's talking to.