Speak to the Renegades

Heading over to the renegades, you wander through their expanding cloud of red smoke to examine them more closely.

The first male has a beard in three tight braids, each braid wrapped around each other and tied with little brass clips. His eyes are bright with enthusiastic mischief as he drinks from a glass tankard full of something dark blue. His fingers, slightly hairy, and as thick as treetrunks, grab the handle in tight merriment.

The other man is thinner and gaunter, equally as bearded, smoking a hell of a lot more than his compatriot. He sips something orange that seems to tinkle as he places it to his lips. The back of his head is covered in an ornate, Arabian styled tattoo.

They both wear the same attire of heavily buckled coats and long breeches, full of Steampunk energy and vivre. Their boots are far too heavy.

The thinner guy speaks up first, "Yeah?" So much the kindness, the other just laughing: