Guildhall of Ironmark buzzes with its usual midday chaos: armor clinking, parchment fluttering, voices rising over mugs of ale. Mercenaries argue about contracts. A pair of mages debate spell components near the notice board. Someone in the corner is very loudly losing a game of dice.

Through the crowd, the door swings open with a hiss of rain and wind. A small elf steps in, barely visible behind the crowd. She brushes droplets from her cloak. Despite her tiny stature, she moves with an easy confidence; she knows exactly where her feet will land. Her clothes appear to barely protect her, but she somehow feels absolutely protected and safe. She doesn't appear to wield any weapon, but her physique clearly isn't that of a mage either.

She navigates through the crowd to the desk, but then stops abruptly three feet away from you.

“Excuse me,” she says with a friendly, lilting tone. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I don’t forget faces easily.”

"I'm Irina, just returning from a quite long mission. Let's catch up after I settle my affairs with the front desk. I'm always intrigued by new faces."

Her gaze sharpens for a heartbeat, then softens again. “You look like someone who’s seen trouble before. I'll figure you out in a bit."

She makes her way to the front desk and collects a paper cheque, not a pouch of gold like normal. Smiling, she heads back towards you.

"I've got a free flow for the evening! Now, let's get some wine and you can spill me your back story!" Her energy is palpable.