Jonnovan
It was almost overwhelming how wasteful the mortal races could be when it came to things such as holy ground, or beacons of progress. The ranger, one accustomed to surviving on meager rations and minimal shelter, was thrown off by the sheer amount of silver, gold and jewelry put into building the city of Delta. And that was only the streets. Jonnovan scowled as he peered at the buildings. If the ruling council or whomever ran the city sold even half of this expensive swaddle, the city coffers would be near to bursting. Then they could replace the structures with, say, steel and concrete? Any sort of material that did not require near-daily maintenance or expensive magics to maintain would be great, really-
"Stop it, Jo." the dusky-skinned traveler smiled to himself as he made his way through the thoroughfare of Delta. Despite abandoning his family trade of mercantile dealings, some of the instincts for hunting down a good economic gain still remained. Jonnovan shrugged to himself. At least he never got ripped off when stopping for supplies.
Returning his thoughts to the outside world, Jonnovan noted the marked lack of citizenry. Whatever the details of this job were, it was clear that the city itself was shaken by the ordeal. Even the local square was almost completely devoid of people. Feeling rather peckish, the ranger adjusted the bow on his back, stood straight and brandished a warm smile before he approached on of the few merchants that were still selling during this time of trial. Jonnovan knew why: the fruit seller could not afford to stop selling, even for a day. Probably indebted to one of the higher echelons of trade in the city.
"Hail, good sir!" the merchant immediately arose from his morose stooping and stared at the approaching southerner with wide eyes. The poor fellow obviously had not been expecting anyone to come by today, much less choose to shop at his shoddy little stand instead of one of the interior stores.
"Y-Yes, hail...lord." Jonnovan maintained his smile as the merchant took him in. Dressed in combat leathers and buckles abounding, a heavy bow slung across his back and a large knife on hip, Jonnovan looked like he should be guarding some backwater castle in the plains instead of eyeing apples in the Shining City. "Is there...anything in particular I could help you with?"
Jonnovan scanned the red and yellow fruits with a trained eye. In his clan, the first skill children were taught in the real world was which foods were good, and which were 'blending'. Merchants often found themselves with a unit or two of inferior goods out of a batch of twenty, and were forced to distribute the lower quality items among the good ones to make the impact less noticeable. With deft hands, smile never wavering, Jo picked up five apples. Three of them were obviously bruised and had been hiding at the bottom of the bin. The merchant smiled sheepishly as Jo held them up for him to see. "I'd like these."
"T-That, you don't-" ignoring the stammers of protest, Jonnovan produced twenty silver pieces from the coin purse at his waist and pressed them into the calloused hand of the seller. The merchant gaped at the sum, grossly overpaid considering the apples were two copper a pound. Before he could say something though, the odd soldier had somehow cleared half of the square and was well out of normal talking distance.
Now this is more my speed. Jo grinned stupidly as he stepped through the doorway and into the Lost Cause. It seemed that even in these bright paragons of civilization, dank ruffians could find a place to call home. Or at the very least a drink that could have passed for ogre piss. Jo inhaled deeply, taking in the sour smell of stale ale, dried blood, unwashed bodies and, of course, vomit.
After only one large bite out of one of his apples--he'd left the bruised ones in the refuse bin outside--Jo overheard a snippet of conversation nearby. A man who looked like he belonged in a child's tale as a goofy villain, and a young maiden that was wearing some sort of clergy uniform were making formal introductions. Jonnovan could have sworn he heard the girl call herself Ereven.
"Shcuse me," he said, trying not to spit out bits of apple as he addressed the pair, "But did you shay your name wash Ereven?" Jo swallowed, placed a hand on his hip and eyed the girl curiously. "You're not really a cleric...right? I thought clerics gained their position through years of study and stuff..." Jo took another bite of the apple and his eyes lighted up as if suddenly recalling something important.
"Oh! I'm Jonnovan Cherali, tha misshiv shaid I'b s'posed to meet up with a cleric and some other hirees here..." he glanced at Valence, screwing up his face, a looking quite the fool with cheeks stuffed full of fruit, "Aint'choo a magsh? What kind of robe wearer ushes shwords?"
As an afterthought, Jo offered Everen the last of his unblemished fruit. "Apple?"