Boartusk Heights when we meet

Qvasir's gaze flicked to the man before him, his dark coat and formidable stature commanding attention. A faint smile touched his lips, more polite than warm, though there was no malice in his expression.

You speak of a gathering well done, he remarked, his tone smooth and measured. Though, I admit, I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing your name.

He inclined his head slightly, a gesture both respectful and curious. I am Qvasir, a mercenary by nature, though my hands are not unfamiliar with other work. His amber eyes searched the other's face, as though seeking the layers beneath the surface.

Tell me, he added, his voice light with intrigue, what brings you here, to this place, to these lands?