Ayla stared at the skinny fellow as he growled into the official's face. She felt a groan coming on, but it didn't escape; a quick glance to the side showed the big fellow, Alexander, was ready to pummel the boy or [i]something[/i] should he get out of hand. Seemed a fair thing. She balled a fist as well, just in case.

The response from the groggy man at the door, though, was priceless.

"We're out of rum. There's a tavern a block down from here that sells some cheap shit. If you want in this building, you're going get me a crate of it."

Things were becoming very familiar to Ayla. Aye, they were. Boys like this skinny one, jumped up and full of themselves, threw their weight around until someone set them straight. She doubted he'd last long with an attitude like that.

"The rest of you can show yourselves in," the weary looking man continued. "You can toss your shit by whichever bunk you soddin' please. When you're ready to talk, I'll be napping in the mess." As he walked in, he added, perhaps as an afterthought, "Big guy with the sword, don't let the tough guy in until he's done with his first big assignment."

Ayla couldn't help but grin, and this time there was actual amusement to it. She glanced up at the giant, shaking her head. "Careful with the gangly geebag," she said with an oh-so-serious expression, pointing over at the fellow that had barged in and spat out curses. "He's a mean little shrimp."

Alexander seemed to want to know the rapscallion's name before he was forced out, but the mage had no such intentions. She headed on in, finding the bunks rather easily and the dark-skinned woman along with them.

She gave the woman - [i]Mysaren, that was her name[/i] - a curious look, the laughter having faded from her face by now. She didn't bother busying herself as she stood there; the woman was strange enough to warrant a second looking at. Only after she was content that she'd seen all the strangeness did she start setting her own things down and removing her armor. She picked a bunk by the door, of course. It was on the floor.

"So," she began, "what's it you bring to this lodge? If we're to be kith in battle, I've a right to know what manner of fighter I'll be trusting... if you're to be fighting at all, that is.

"The name's Ayla Nic Lanrogh, Runemage of Clan Woerich." Pausing, she decided the odd woman might not know what that meant. "My people are the Wodanes," she added, "from the Stormy Isle far to the north. You?"