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Zandron swaggers into the Tipsy Traveler, the feathers on his hat bouncing, Mahto on his heels. One hand rests on a sword hilt on his hip, and the other waves frustratedly, gripping a copy of The Haven Chronicles.

"Thirteen мoons," he groans, loud enough for all the patrons to hear, "Thirteen мoons I lead this navy, and they still calling мe кeptain."

He sloughs down onto a barstool, slamming the paper down before him. "кeptain!" He looks to the barkeep, opens his mouth to order, then notes Mahto's stern look. "Eh... Nothing for мe," he mutters. The commodore is silent for a moment, then shakes his head, speaking quickly. "Soмe tiмes I thinк they trying to мaкe me crazy." Though he looks to Mahto, this comment is more to himself.

Mahto looks calmly at his "Captain" even he hadn't gotten out of the habit. The relationship between the two had changed vastly in the last two years. Zandron had been there for him when he was a kid, when no one else was. Now, it seemed Mahto had to be there to take care of him. He peers at the aging elf with frustration when he almost gave into his biggest weakness. Mahto puts his hand on the hilt of his ancestral sword and points is up so he may sit on a bar stool.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it Commodore, Haven is just getting used to the thought of you in command. Just think, It was only just recently you spent that mission half naked..." Mahto releases a small chuckle then returns to his serious ways, "We need more people Sir. We should start accepting applications, like the royal guard." He smirks as he points to the notice on the wall placed by Chargeender earlier. His voice drops so that only Zandron can hear. "Also, more trusted compatriots would be beneficial to us. There may be peace now, but we all know that that is but a fleeting illusion." He looks up and around the bar, and grunts: "The man who started this place is now the King of a great nation, and two men with dim pasts now are under his command. Times have changed Zandron."

Leave it to The Snowbringer to make everything serious.

"they are only words."

the door to the tipsy traveler opened as Rothek and another wolf beastman entered. Zandron would start to feel better about his age after seeing how most of rothek's fur was beginning to gray with his face gone almost completely white save for a few spots near his ears and under his mouth which was still stained a brownish red. the other beastman walked in behind rothek wearing a simple brown tunic that for a beastman looked extremely well made and a kilt that was no doubt of dwarven make. this beastman stood as rothek sat down next to Mahto.

"do not concern yourself with names and titles, master elf, they are empty, hollow. if you lead your forces well, they will see."