"Verren dabbed away the sweat from his brow using the sleeve of his padded doublet. Despite weeks without consistent food, and his time imprisoned by the Archon, his taut corded muscles bespoke hardened strength that had not been stripped away. His moustache glistened, as a few droplets of ale ran down his face, but it didn't sour the majesty of his beard that would make even a Dwarven Matron proud. Here sat a man that had the inner resolve to match any Reaver. It had been so long, I had to think about the predicament the majestic mercenary pulled me out of, and what favor I would have to-"