<br/><div class="floatright"> (http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2011/052/c/a/theon_by_ammotu-d3a31ne.jpg)</div><strong>Shirvan<br/>HP</strong>11|<strong>AC: 16</strong>|<strong>Saves:</strong><em>Fort:</em>+2 /<em>Ref:</em>+4 /<em>Will:</em>+2<br/><strong>Initiative:</strong>+6|<strong>Active effect / conditions:</strong><strong>Resist</strong>acid, cold, electricity 5;<strong>darkvision</strong>60 ft.|<br/><hr/><br/>"What did you think the bandits would be doing, camping in the woods and singing bawdy songs?" Shirvan mused with a cheeky grin on his face as he stepped forward, briefly placed a hand on Rory's shoulder as he stepped past after having briefly tended to his mule - or rather, having rifled around in one of the bags strapped to it. Despite his possession of the creature, he didn't seem to have much love for it and was quick to use a feedbag rather than ever hand it treats himself. It was more of a convenience to him, a service animal, rather than a companion - he had been happy to offer its carrying strength to anyone with heavier equpment or just for a time when others wanted to relax their shoulders.<br/><br/>As he stepped towards Oleg, it was obvious that the man had a love for things both practical and stylish, his clothes suitably for travel but hardly for camouflage and, conceivably, within the realm where one could meet with finer people without embarassing themselves. Assuming that he had an opportunity to wash the dust of multiple days' travel off himself. Leather boots and gloves, woolen pants and a shirt that both matched in the same black color and a brown coat with some golden embroideries upon it that was framed with thick warm fur. One of the advantages of having once been well off, Shirvan had taken great pains to keep it in good condition so that he could pretend to greater means than he actually possessed. This was not needed in this place, of course, but it was still his favored choice of garb.<br/><br/>"I am Shirvan," he introduced himself, briefly exchanging glances with Jean as he reached the owner of this tradepost. "And I'll say the same: a pleasure. You are Oleg, then?" For a moment, the golden-eyed adventurer had considered calling the owner 'Master Leveton', but a gruff man of the land and isolation probably had little use for formality. He held out his hand for the man to shake for a moment, then placed it against the weapon in his belt for emphasis. "Don't worry, we have some experience in dealing with bandits. But yes -- an opportunity to unpack and recover a bit from the road before we set out would be very welcome." With that added he straightened his posture and directed a brief bow towards Svetlana, over at the cooking station - his voice was clear and carried well, so there was little doubt that she could hear him.<br/>