<strong>Name:</strong>Sylvester Eckhart<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Thirsty Turtle<br/><br/><strong>Body:</strong><br/>The tavern was certainly fuller than usual, and whilst many came for the high-quality ales, Sylvester had no doubt the extra swell of bodies was a result of the poster. Everyone mercenary and adventurer in town had heard of it over the past few days, the note from the Brionti family, which offered a thousand gold for completing taking part in an expedition.<em>'A thousand gold...'</em>Sylvester licked his lips at the thought of such wealth. It was a small fortune - enough for a man like Sylvester to provide for himself and his family for some time. Any man would consider taking a risk when it came to such a sum, but the prospect of going into the Wilds had made most think twice. The archer himself had scratched at his cheek and frowned, trying to weigh the risk against the prize. The Wilds was a source of constant danger. Nobody really knew what was in there. Several had been in there, and never returned - including the infamous 13th Legion.<br/><br/>In the end it seemed gold won over sense, which led to Sylvester sitting silently on a barstool amidst the chatter and talk of others, a mug of cider between his calloused hands. He kept his head down, having never been the sociable sort, but he'd asked the bartender to let him know when the man mentioned on the notice - one Master Riddick, came in. He sipped at his drink throughout the evening while he waited, keeping an eye out for any new or unfamiliar faces - a difficult task, seeing as half the patrons seemed to favour heavy, hooded travelling cloaks. He usually wore one himself but tonight his hood had been lowered, the bar was sticky with body heat and Sylvester's hair was plastered onto his scarred brow.<br/><br/>At last, after a few drinks, there was a tap against the bracer on his wrist. Looking up quickly, his green-brown eyes followed the nod of the bartender to a man holding two mugs of ale. Long, flowing blonde hair fell about his shoulders, but he looked powerful, despite the age in his face. Judging by the sword and axe, he was a seasoned warrior - he'd have to be, if he was to be leading this expedition into the Wilds. Sylvester watched as Riddick made his way over to a table to join another. Enveloped in shadow, it was hard to make out any of the companions features, but he thought he had the look and cut of a man, not a woman.<br/><br/>Sliding a few coins over the counter towards the barkeep for his assistance, the archer took a few more minutes to survey the newcomers before they were blocked from view by a few people looking to show their interest. Not wanting to be too late, Sly quickly gulped down the dregs of his cider and got to his feet. Readjusting the straps of his belt and quiver, he pushed his way through the crowd of patrons towards the table. Though there were others waiting to be heard, he puffed out his chest and stepped forward to catch the older warrior's eye.<br/><br/>"Master Riddick?" He extended a gloved hand. "Sylvester Eckhart. I'm here for the expedition."<br/>