"Perhaps with an introduction, brother. Are you the Lord Khamer we've been hearing about who apparently rescued us from a snowy demise?" Kalendale curtly asks. "I'd be greatly interested in knowing where I am at the moment. These books, while dreadfully intriguing, have done nothing to allay my concerns." He gathers his various bits and bobs, spellbook, wizardious sundries and such from the pile of his belongings, carefully, almost absently, regarding a simple braided hempen cord with turquoise beads before seemingly snapping back to reality and using it to tie back his hair into a long ponytail. His mongoose companion darts into the pile and emerges with a simple brown-leather satchel and, upon opening the drawstring, begins chewing loudly and contentedly on a hunk of dried meat.

"Of all the things I've tried to teach her, table manners never took," Kalendale says with a chuckle. Rolling up his sleeves he retakes his seat at the table. "I wonder if our kind is as different in whatever this region is as apparently the orcs and gnolls are..." he idly muses.