<strong>Name;</strong>Zam Sharrow<br/><strong>Location;</strong>Copper Ram<br/><strong>Tagged;</strong>We band of merry travellers<br/><br/>Zam had spent most of the night drinking at the bar, and mentally gearing himself up for the Shadowed Lands. He wasn't sure if the (entirely passable, but not quite so good as the Pony's) ale was helping or not. Mostly he'd only heard rumours about the place, and even those had thoroughly discouraged him from making the journey. Things were different now he needed a group to be safe (he snorted quietly to himself at the irony of being 'safe' in the Shadowed Lands), but he didn't want to show the rest of the adventurers just how spooked he was by asking about it.<br/><br/>People in his profession should rightly feel at home in a place like it. Plenty of places to hide, and it's easy to ignore a tiny thief stealing your valuables when you have so many other, bigger things to worry about. He sighed.<br/><br/>Opening one of the pouches on his pick bandoleer, he drew out a small phial of some clear liquid. Drawing the stopper, he took a nip. Feeling the fresh, almost herbal medhyl slipping down his throat sharpened his eyes and cleared some of the fug of the alcohol. The edge of his tiredness was blunted.<br/><br/>He was interrupted in his inventory by the sound of someone colliding with the door. He turned in time to see the winged elf hit the floor, trying and failing to stifle a laugh.<br/><br/>After she'd recovered enough to ask if they were leaving, Zam replied, "Ready when everyone else is!"