"A lot of walking, a lot of talking," Marcel answers. It's the kind of humility that nonetheless emanates pride, which he has in spades. He is good at walking and talking, and he knows it. He turns back toward the box he was handling, pulling the lid free. Inside, there's a tufting of hay, a glint of ceramic and stone. New wares for the Tavern.

"I'm definitely thinking about it. Seems like the best way to earn some trust, and get an understanding of the Rifts. You've been out there, right?" He sets aside some of the fresh mugs, but then pauses to look at Sam. "Have there been Rifts on most missions? All of 'em?"