Tavel loved taverns. Not in the way his mom did, though. She had (maybe still did, Tavel was bad at visiting) seen them as the shrines of inebriation that many dwarves rever them as, places to imbibe until one's face was numb enough to initiate a brawl. No, Tavel loved them because they were a fantastic place to sell the stupidest crap this side of stupid-ville and have no more enemies walking out then he did walking in. As it turned out a man in the throes of drink was especially susceptible to a good sales pitch, and one listened to the 6'5 man long enough they would almost unconsciously start reaching for their wallets (Tavel liked to refer to them as "on-tapped markets"). Thank the gods (whichever, Tavel wasn't too picky) too, since it was harder to turn a profit in Gaia than he had anticipated. He had thought that the cosmopolitan nature of Terra would have opened a wide array of potential customer demographics, but that had not really been the case. All of his usual tactics were eventually thwarted by some passer-by, whether it be a foreign visitor debunking his exotic goods routine or an actual expert showing Tavel's technobabble to in fact be mostly bunk. So was his day until Tavel ventured into this tavern (The Grounded Sparrow, if he recalled from the sign outside the door) and unloaded some far out-dated engine parts to a few unlucky S.O.B.s complaining of vehicle troubles and a couple of blue-tinted rocks that, after only five minutes and a feigned accent, he successfully convinced a man were in fact pieces of crystallized water from the exotic locale of Aqua that had been subjected to a sufficient amount of pressure. As he watched the inebriate stagger off to show off his newfound treasures, Tavel found himself yearning for some better goods.

Having successfully extricated some of the more regrettable wares from his inventory, Tavel began walking towards the bar to end his hard day with some ale. It was, however, not to be; he was not halfway to his destination before overhearing the conversation of a neighboring table. Its occupants were strange, but only in that they were the most perfectly generic group of adventurer's that Tavel had ever seen: first you had your armor-clad knight, proudly displaying his newly-acquired chunks of crystallized water to his comrades. Next there was a magic-user, clearly differentiated by the large tome by his side. A gunslinger completed the party, looking for all the world like someone whose whole identity is based off of the fact that she used guns. In any event, it was less the absolutely generic nature of the inhabitants that led Tavel to eavesdrop than it was the nature of their conversation. They seemed to be in deep discussions about a rumor of work protecting a trade caravan. Now that sounded promising. From what he could hear, the work paid relatively well and would involve a fair bit of travel. These were both very positive points for Tavel, who suffered currently from the duel needs of wanting to get away from Gaia (maybe even Terra) and needing a bit of extra cash to upgrade the quality of his wares. It didn't take long for the merchant to make up his mind, and he soon found himself gathering as many details about the work as possible.

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2 weeks later:

Walking towards the Terran landmark of Fool's Redoubt, Tavel fidgeted with the enchanted hammer he kept on his back as he tried to make himself look as intimidating as possible. When it came down to it Tavel wasn't really that adept of a fighter, so he'd be relying on his skills as a salesman to secure an in with this caravan job. After all, who was he but another ware to polish up and convince someone to buy? He was big, he was strong, there really wasn't any reason not hire him. Before long Tavel had spotted a dwarf and a siren not too far from him, and Tavel knew he had found his employers / customers. Striding up confidently, the man wiggled his mustache,put his closed fists against the sides of his hips, and exclaimed "Hello, are you the ones who posted the caravan job?" As he spoke, Tavel looked around to see what sort of people his potential "coworkers" were.