John set aside the small map of the Tular plains and picked up his small glass of whiskey, taking a swig. The knocking at the door intruded into his thoughts, but the interruption was not entirely unwelcome. He had been studying the contours of the land, trying to think of a place where trees might have survived the invasion. According to rumor, there was nothing left of Tular but blasted landscapes. The only reliable source of information, though, aside from his own eyes of course, would be the ‘Queen of Exiles’, which the map referenced as a ruler or warlord in some respects. The news from her might even be fragmented, but even a vague direction would be better than wandering the plains looking aimlessly. He stood, draining the last of his glass of whiskey.

He bent down a little bit to grab the door handle, and turned away before he could see who it was that had come to help. He talked as he spoke, walking to a cabinet by the wood-fired stove, which currently supplied light and heat to the house.

“Aye, I need a hand out there. Whiskey?”

The half-giant didn’t wait for an answer, but grabbed a glass anyway. If he didn’t want any, it would just go unused. John sat back down and took his first look at the man. More of a boy, now that he looked at the primly dressed youth in front of him. Everything about him looked to be by the book and neatly done. He would have felt under dressed in his slightly soot-stained rough fabric and heavy leather boots. At least John didn't have any of his armor out, he didn't like to lead with his strange magical alloy.

“You can make the journey, yes?”