Five bodies sat round a table inside the Dragon’s Liver, one of the more reputable taverns of the town known as Dragon’s Breath, and the only tavern built within the large carcass that sat in the town’s center. Laughter rose and fell amidst the voices of the tavern, often spilling outside, but the table that these five sat at was by far the loudest. It did not take more then one glance to see that they were celebrating something.<br/><br/>A woman with black hair and large blue eyes stood with one foot on a stool, her hands balled into fists that rest upon the crest of her hips. A smile pulled at her pink lips, exposing surprisingly good teeth. Whatever she was doing, it was encouraged by the other four around her. A man, his gray beard barely covering a scar across his mouth and up his nose, drank from a mug between guffaws, the ale hitting the table more than he mouth. He was a muscular man, or rather had been in his youth, but his aged body still held some semblance of what had been, it was no doubt that he could still hold his own against any youth should step up to him. His leathery skin was pulled tight across his bald head and it gleamed in the lamplight: there was a plain sword with a curved blade hanging from his right hip.<br/><br/>Across from the graying man, sat a rather large youth with short red curls and an impressive build. Not as outgoing as the older man, he simply smiled and, on occasion, let out a warm chuckle as he drank from his own mug. He had the build of a blacksmith and matching, calloused hands to go with it. Between words spoken by the raven haired woman, the man stole glances at the short haired blonde one beside him. She had beautiful large green eyes with long lashes atop a button nose and full lips that seemed to be in a permanent pout, when she wasn’t smiling. Scantily clad, as most women were, she left little to the imagination, but compared to the tavern wenches, this woman was dressed modestly. Most of her laughter had been into her cup, more than a few empty mugs scattered about her.<br/><br/>The last body, a lanky fellow with sickly pale skin and dark eyes, laughed along with the graying man. There was a resemblance there, indicating that they were related somehow. The man seemed frail, but the older gentleman didn’t hold back as he slapped the man on his back.<br/><br/>“Catulin.” The frail man said to the blonde woman, drawing her attention to him. “Tell the one of the old bag who mistook you for a man.” A round of ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s went around the table as the woman shook her head, laughter trickling from her throat and into her mug.<br/><br/>“Can you believe this man??” Catulin finally said, those around the table cheering as she began her tale of an old man from the woman’s childhood. The graying man stood and staggered for the door, drunkenly laughing about having to relieve himself and not thinking the tavern keeper wanted him to do it all over the floor. The table waved him away with variations of “hurry back” before returning to Catulin’s story.<br/><br/>After relieving himself against the side of the building, the only wooden structure inside the dead dragon, the old man made his way back to the tavern door, catching a poor young fellow as he hurried past. “Help me out, young man.” The gray bearded man stank of ale and his balance was none too steady. “I just want to get back to my table, in the tavern, see?” Pointing to the group laughing amongst themselves, the man continued to speak. “I’m Taham.”