The HallDevotees
As each newcomer approached, the masked man started, as if completely surprised by the presence of anyone but the few at the table. Elora, on the other hand, focused on those responding to her question.
"Perhaps for you this is just another trek into the abyss, but what I was offered... Whoever we're dealing with is certainly well informed. I don't know how they could possibly give me what they promised. This feels more like coercion than anything." She leans forward a bit in her chair, stiffening her posture in an inhuman contortion of her back.
"I would like everyone to be on the same page. I doubt any one of you fully trust this contract. I don't expect you to trust me, or each other. Just know how far you'll go to get what you were promised, and know that I'd go twice the distance to get mine. If you understand that... I'm happy to abide your presence." Leaning back, her face now changed, sculpted into an expression unreadable to any species but her own.
A few moments of palpable silence passed. The anonymous patrons rescinded back into their torpor, and for an instance this small part of the mountain reclaimed its stoic passivity.
Just as any one of the devotees might have resumed the conversation, the door to the hall swung open. A man whose face spoke of years of travel and a long life, but eyes with a spark reserved for men a third his age stood in the doorway, arms outstretched and inviting. He wore the thick furs of a mountain man, but trinkets dangling from his person gave the impression of a well prepared adventurer.
"Well, ain't this a taste of the world!" The boisterous announcement, though inordinately loud, elicited no response from any of the rabble peppered around the room.
"I 'kin see more in all your's faces than all this other lot put together," he called as he meandered towards the group of devotees, slapping the backs of other patrons as he went. In a graceless maneuver, he pulls a seat from the table, scattering errant silverware and sending a few cups to the floor. He sets his vigorously worn and dirtied left fur boot upon the chair, fiddling with it as he speaks.
"A colourful little platter holdin' piece-size samples from all over! A little chonatised spice here, Hill Fen lummox meat there..." He never looked up from his boot, but gestured towards the group with his unoccupied hand. Finally, when enough frozen grime littered the area, he focused his attention on the group.
"I bet y'all are itchin' to go where yer goin', but firstly I gotta introduce myself! I am Makern Pinwhip: explorer firstly, trader secondly, curious as a cat and louder'n a a gaggle of Griffalos in heat!" He looks around at the possibly dazed, probably confused expressions around the table before some decorum returns to him.
"Er... Y'all are the ones lookin' for a caravan to 'scort you through this Pass, right?"