Deep Roots Are Not Reached By The Frost

This one was odd. The cleric was a young woman, the bard a rat. The android clung behind the bard tightly and the archer stood off from the group. The bomber was scarred heavily, the swordsman the youngest of them. Ovar had never seen the Cleavers ever look like it.
And the strangest part was, they were arguing.
“I'm not here to follow your rules.” The rat kicked his foot against the tabletop for emphasis.
“This is more important than your ego!” The cleric whined from across the table.
“I knew this wasn't worth my time.” The lizard reached for his quiver and everyone else seemed about ready to leave, barring the swordsman. He just looked disappointed.
This wasn't right. This was very wrong.
“Hoi!” Ovar called, jumping from the bar stool. It might have looked comical to see the drop in height had he not landed with such weight, “What do you think you're doing?”
“Leaving.” The archer shouldered his quiver and began walking.
“No you aren't!” Ovar barred the way with his axe. He couldn't even remember where he'd gotten it, but it was deep black and exceptionally heavy, “Sit down.” He barked, and the group complied.
“Do you know who you are?” He asked, marching before them like a drill sergeant.
“A group of comically mismatched adventurers?” The bomber snarked.
“Yes. But not just any group of adventurers. You lot are the Star Cleavers. You're meant to be the greatest heroes in the world.” They did not look convinced.
“You,” He pointed to the bard, “Will become a tactical genius.” He regarded the android, “You'll become the most versatile individual in the world. And you the best shot! You'll grow wings and fly! You'll save countless lives! And you,” He put a hand on the young boy's shoulder, “You will be the greatest swordsman in the world.”
“With all due respect, sir-” The swordsman began.
“Look into my eyes, all of you. Look into my eyes and tell me I'm lying.” They obliged. They looked into his eyes and their reflections stared back. Centuries of them, proud, mighty, and great.
“And most importantly, young heroes, you will be the greatest of friends.”
The group looked to one another around the round tavern table, mouths agape.
“I guess we could give this thing a shot.” Sarinak said.
“If you think we can be heroes.” Eptol added.
“If the world needs us.” Resmi shifted in her seat.
“Then I guess we're the Star Cleavers.” Iago shrugged.
Mal put his hand in to the middle of the table. Eptol and Resmi piled theirs on top, then Iago and Galatea, and finally Sarinak.
“Star Cleavers.” They said as one.
They looked around to see the dwarf walking away. Eptol called after him, “Hey, old man!”
Ovar looked back over his shoulder.
“Why don't you come with us?” The group stood, waiting for his answer.
Ovar slowly shook his head, “I don't think it's my place.”
“How do you know it's not your place?” Galatea piped up.
“Yeah, have you tried?” Mal asked.
“Once.” Ovar nodded solemnly.
“Everyone deserves a second shot.” Sarinak smiled, “Even these bozos.” He grinned down at the group and playfully, Iago punched his arm.
Ovar began to smile, “Yeah. I guess they do.”