Alexander came out of the pub feeling optimistic. Under each arm he carried a barrel, one of cider and one of beer. The barrels themselves were fairly shoddy, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. The coopery was not why he made the purchase. His companions were laden down with drinks, each less encumbered than Alexander but still laden to bear with liquor. Alexander walked slowly back to the Silver Dagger, a spring in his step, happy to see the row settled to satisfaction, slowed by his load slightly as it sloshed and occasionally threw him slightly off balance. He was walking alongside his companions, speaking to address the group as a whole, in the mirthful tones of his "storyteller's voice", drawing the occasional unfriendly glance from the now-dwindled crowd, unused to such brash behaviour at such an early hour of the morning.

"Oh, if yer lookin' fer tempers, we had a few real shield-biters in the company. Black folks" He caught himself, remembering his dark-skinned companion "black as in dark folks, bad folks who're used to bloody business. Not, yer know..,". Soldiering through the chagrin, he continued. "Anyway, load of them were right cunts every hour o'the day, but what always got me were this one feller, scout called sheepskin, no-one knew why."

Alexander dodged a passerby and continued the story unabated. "I always figured it were because most o' the time, he was meek as a lamb, but I aint' never seen a man get madder in my life, I swear. Only saw it twice, but I were scared stiff both times, and that aint' something I make a habit of, yer know?". Alexander guffawed, stopping himself just short of continuing his story when he caught sight of a woman at the door of the Dagger, looking like she meant to be there.

He stopped and turned to his companions, asking more softly while gesturing to the waiting lady, "Any o' you know here? Looks like we got a new recruit, either way."