Barcus has no hesitation in accepting a handshake. His grip is firm enough; his hands, too, are callused, but in the way a mechanic or tinkerer's would be, not in the places a swordsman has calluses. "I've been here for a little over a month," he says. "It takes a little getting used to. Everyone is...mostly pleasant enough, but far too tall."

That second bit is probably meant to be a joke.

"You're a halfling? It's hard to tell with costumes on, not that it matters that much. I'm a deep gnome." Of course, chances are they're not even from the same world, but there's a sense of distant familiarity here. He doesn't think he's guessed wrong, now that he's speaking to the man.

"Barcus Wroot. Well met, saer."