(Here we have the good spirited and incredibly adept adventurer Denthis Penbridge, better known as the Rabbit among more moniker-savvy circles. Embroidered rose designs have been hemmed into his frilly shirt, not for fashion, but for poetic symbolism. The blade attached to his buckled belt and hanging nonchalantly from his hip, a well maintained cutlass to be precise, rests in a silver shining sheath socketed with ornate jewels. His long cloak, perhaps an olive green hue speckled and caked with patches of mud, conceals a bandolier holstering an array of razor edged knives. Strapped to his back is a bulging leather pack riddled with protective arcane patches; its pouches are stuffed with essential survival equipment, a visible potion or two, and a bounded bundle of well-oiled torches. If you please direct your attention to his boots, you’ll notice a distinct pattern of rare red scales that reveal their evlen origins, which glisten with a scintilla of magic under starlight. The only reason any of this is relevant is because adventurers typically dress or carry themselves about in a certain way, are usually armed in accordance to preference and proficiency, and tend to stick out in society like a sore thumb or an ugly holiday sweater.)
“Thank you kindly, Bornen Stonefeather,” Denthis humbly bowed, slipping the wad of signed paper back into a pocket of his trousers. “And again, sorry for the misunderstanding,” he added politely.
The elderly dwarf was still gazing with great concern at his surroundings. “Ah-hmm,” was the best he could answer.
“You’re probably wondering about the mess. Don’t worry about this lot, they’re-” A sudden, weak groan emanated from under the broken bits of cabinet on the floor, which interrupted him. “Excuse me,” he said, then casually walked over to a robed figure hazily regaining consciousness. Denthis delivered a swift kick with his boot, there was a winded “umf” noise, and the groaning stopped. He rejoined the dwarves, continuing smoothly, “Where was I? Oh yes, don’t worry about them. They’re still upset because I ransacked their temple, killed a few dozen of their guards, rescued the would-be virgin sacrifice, threw their dagger-wielding high priest into a pit of fire, and toppled a gilded statue dedicated to their pagan Red Star god on the way out the door . . . I mean, nothing to get too worked up about, right?”
“I suppose,” Bornen replied slowly, “there’s worse things to get upset about.” Then he asked, “But what of the elf that lives here? Ezmyr? Is he all right?”
“I’m not sure. The place was empty when I got here – and tidier too, I swear that. I don’t really have the time to clean any of this up, by the way. I’m on bit of a tight schedule; adventuring business and the like, you understand. You said you were his friends, right? Maybe you could put in a good word for me? Yes?”