<div class="floatright">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/98/32/f8/9832f8ea3fd73ea1e15f3894331077ac.jpg)</div><em>Zybet Darwinkle</em><br/>NG Rock Gnome Rogue<br/>HP: 10 | AC: 13 | Init: +2 | Status: Normal<br/>Tagging:  Open | GM NPC<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Zybet, as she liked to be called, had dragged herself downstairs at an hour she considered ungodly - certainly one that was an affront to any<em>fun</em>deities, anyhow.  Still, the scent of roasted potatoes and rashers of bacon revived her considerably, as did the mug of cool ale already half-drunk and kept near-at-hand.  Her eyes rose from her plate, cheeks puffed out with her mouthful of potatoes smothered in gravy and her lips shiny with bacon grease as the stranger approached their table.<br/><br/>Swallowing with visible effort and washing the lump of half-chewed food down her throat with a large swig of ale, she cocked a brow at the sigil worn around the man's neck.  Of course, makes sense a devotee of Tyr would not only be wide-awake and raring to go at such an hour, but ready to cause problems.  Covering her mouth as she burped softly, then wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she found it within her to muster up a smile for the sour-faced Muddy Duddy.<br/><br/>"Mornin'!  How can we help you?"