Verkoth looks up at Arymeith as she approaches with the elf, his eyes narrowing.
"Regarial," He pauses as more figures emerge from the stairwell, Talent, Nak, Jowayne and the Inquisitor. "I see you've made some new friends."
Taking the proffered note, Verkoth scans it briefly before nodding up at Talent.
"You might be interested in this one...I'd place him as an Arkosian by his accent and by the way he punches."
Another nod sends Talent back to mind the queue before Verkoth turns to the assembled crowd, his gaze thoughtfull.
"Why, Regarial, after all this time do you seek me out? Surley you don't believe I will hire you on after what happened in Coast?"
"Quite the contrary," The Inquisitor mutters, folding his arms accross his chest. "We are offering you this prime specimen of a Dwarf as a hired blade, if you...retrieve something for us."
"Something from Ylarien." Regarial finishes, mimicking his companion's gesture.
"Which would be?" Verkoth casts an irritated glance at the two, his eyes flicking from one face to another.
"His head." The Inquisitor replies flatly.
"Well-" Verkoth suddenly freezes, hand halfway to his glass. Along the balcony other expeditionaries are doing the same, turning to look at one of the doorways that lead to the Inn's guest quaters where a large group of armed men are standing, their cuirasses bearing the sign of one of Demarkon's mercenary houses.
"About my note," Regarial mutters, sliding his crossbow from its back mount and selecting a quarrel from his quiver, "Perhaps we can discuss buisiness later."
Around the room other expedition leaders are also calling their guards to them whilst in the common room below men are readying their weapons, some looking all too eagre to prove their worth through force of arms.
"So much for no pushing or shoving," mutters Talent, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small hatchet, its edge glinting dangerously in the dirty light.

There are nine mercenaries in total, all clad in heavy plate armour and carrying longswords. To reach them you will need to move in an 'L' along the balcony and turn left at the wall. Between you and them are two other expedition tables.

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"Retrieving a certain object from Ylarien house is vital for the expedition to begin, Verkoth explains hurridley as Tarka takes a step forwards, pointing a finger accusingly at him.
"Go on, make an excuse."
"Takra I don't want to fight you again, we were allies..."
"Planning on telling that to the Kings of Coast? The Two that are left alive that is."
"Eventually," Verkoth's flat response leaves the elf temporarily speechless, "But first, my expedition."
"Verkoth, I-"
"Arctarsis, I assure you that breaking into Ylarien house will be much safter than you remaining in this city. I can't imagine those thugs will have gone far before informing the constabulary, and now you may as well have this man's blood on your hands. He will have friends and they will want you dead...or worse. My offer still stands, and I strongly reccomend you accept it, for your own sake as much as mine."
"Verkoth..." Takra begins before shaking her head in anger, her magic dispersing, "We will meet again, and you will atone."
"I will." Verkoth turns away from the elf, his words hanging between the two.