Shiff wanders into the Weary Traveller one summers eve, a steel blue cloak about his shoulders fastened with a bejeweled brooch. His greatsword rests as it always does on his back, and his trusted side arms (his battleaxe and longsword) hang in their places on his hips, his emergency dagger strapped to his thigh. He pulls back the hood and throws the folds of the cloak behind his shoulders, before shrugging his shoulders, his sword and pack rising and falling with the action. He nods to someone leaving, slightly amused at their frightened glance at the heavily armed man, but it was nothing new to Shiff.
He wanders over to the large bar situated in the middle of the Tavern's spacious main hall, and shrugs off his backpack, leaning it against the legs of the chair as he unfastened his blades bauldric from his shoulders, leaning the massive sword against the back of an adjacent, but empty, stool.
