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Balthasar could feel the punch that shook him a little, but it was better than the last time, when that kobold had tried to shank him with a shiv. "Have at thee!" His swing wildly misses. With what looks to be bobbing and weaving, Balthasar shifts himself to the left. "The first rule of adventuring, Elmo, is to always be on your guard! I will have you thinking like an adventurer yet!"
I really want to give brawling a shot as a wizard, so let me have some fun, and if you think the scrawny wizard with eyeglasses isn't going to do too well, please step in and intervene.
"Fisticuffs? Hah! I am quite the brawler myself!" Emboldened by drink and food, Balthasar steps up in his wizardly robes. "Before you get to our brave fighter, you will have to fight through me, good sir! And despite my appearance, I am also a mighty warrior! Fear Big Balty!"
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This is a question for the party. Since we have three people with moderate amounts of Diplomacy (but nothing in Sense Motive), when we actually have to talk to someone as a group, can we agree that the other two aid the person who either spoke first or the person with the higher Diplomacy check? It might help clear up the confusion when we're all rolling 3 Diplomacy checks to influence one person.
Balthasar nods. "My raven friend here is correct. Adventuring is a thankless job not for the faint-hearted - then again, we could always use an extra man on the front lines. My suggestion is as follows, gentlemen: let him try his luck at a good, old-fashioned test of skill. Best any one of us in combat tonight and I am sure my colleagues might consider your proposal in a better light. Oh, if we do, we'd better take it outside; I'm not sure the innkeep would forgive us if we broke... things."
The suggestion that he was not willing to pay for his meal brought a look of blatant indignation to Balthasar's face. "Well, I never...!" "Here you are, my good man, for services and the good meal rendered. I shall talk to the Elder in the morn, then," he says, as he pulls out a few silvers from his belt pouch. The last ones I had, too. Damn. Balthasar hesitates for a second as the innkeep lays upon Rafael the local news. After the conversation is over, he pulls over Rafael and says, "Well, if this Burne fellow would not mind meeting me first thing in the morning, I will pay him a visit first tomorrow, so you know where to expect me... for the love of my life, I cannot see some of our companions, so please let them know." "Now..." Balthasar's tone of voice changed as his gaze swept around the tavern. "If there is nothing more to do, I believe I will retire to my quarters."
"Ah, nothing Chelish?" Balthasar looks decidedly disappointed. "I suppose a mug of Caydenbrew and poached salmon would be just as good." "Now onto matters of bed and room," Balthasar addresses the innkeeper. "Is there any work for a master of arcane secrets, delver of ancient tomes such as I?... and preferrably something I can do as payment for such a service as a warm bed to sleep in and a roof over my head."
"Hearty food and a bottle of Corentyn wine if you have it, my good man," says Balthasar. "Do you have rooms available for the night?"
Balthasar shrugs. "Suit yourself, Trane. I will be at the inn for some time, I think."
His robes weighing him down less than armour, Balthasar finds himself already in front of the doors of the Inn. As he turns around to address his mates, however, Balthasar's eyes wander over the bluish stones as Trane disappears towards them. I wonder if the stones or the grove holds secrets for me? The thought passes in a fleeting moment, and Balthasar opens the doors that lead into the Inn of the Welcome Wench. "Aah," he says, as he looks around.
Balthasar's face lights up with expectations of a warm meal and a warm hearth as he pulls his robes together and walks briskly after Cananthir. "Onwards, I say. What business I have with this town can wait for the morn."
As the gnome steals his thunder, Balthasar shoots him a look of mild irritation as he moves to give way. "Yes... I concur with my particularly palaverous colleague here," he grumbles. "And I would very much prefer to move on to greener meadows, preferably found at the bottom of an empty flagon. Several of them."
Balthasar scoffed. "Passing up good food and drink for brambles on the side of the road? Suit yourself, but I have needs that must be met." Upon seeing the goodwife, Baltahsar sifts through his hair with one hand and steps forth intending to leave a good, memorable first impression. He approaches the farmhouse, removing his hood along the way. "Hail, good lady! We are simple travelers, seeking shelter and food for the night. We heard that there is a tavern and an inn in this town. Might you be so kind to tell us where such an oasis for weary feet and thirsty souls is?" Finally, perhaps we can get out of this gods-damned road. Any longer and I could be lion's bait.
The hood drops, revealing the pale complexion of a bespectacled scholar, long raven hair tied into a ponytail to prevent it from interfering with more important matters.
With the grey hood of his traveler's cloak over his face, Balthasar's face was shrouded in part by darkness. He drew himself up on his walking-cane, trying not to show his weariness after the long trek, or his mild discomfort at being eyed up by a lioness every once in a while, as if he was a morsel. "Must we discuss this here, now? My boots are worn and the weather grows foul. Surely there is a lodging-house or an inn of some sort in this town." |
