Lord Byron Talimah's page

Brave they are that trod
Hao Jin's magic sod

In fabric sealed are
Treasures to be revealed

Yet now we see the game
That not all gifts are the same

Is this an ancient wine
Or poison aged with time.

My paths have led me back
From those critters that I whacked

To a long forgotten home
Bearing a devilish tome

The dear VC tells me wow
You are alive but how

For all the others we sent
Now pay Pharasma's rent.

I reply my dear VC
I see you weep for me

But are they tears of joy
Or a crocodile's heartless ploy.

On public drunkenness

What wonder we find amidst the earth
When below the bar is our berth.

Or sleeping in sluices of heady waste
To dream of better things to taste.

Byron seems amused by the performance. Slowly twirling his gem encrusted cane in rhythm to the movement.

There are a number of rumors that double D is a member of the Decemvirate. I haven't started these myself you know, but I do enjoy spreading them around.

Perhaps you could find Dreng's office, get a cot, take a nap...surely he would appear soon enough. Or at least you'll get a nap.

Byron returns the bow and smiles. Indeed formality amongst my Taldan kin is tiresome, the family of Pathfinder agents is much more casual...perhaps much more loyal as well.

An elegant Tiefling with a finely wrought cane ambles over to you.

Double D? - Last time I saw him he was in an alley begging for wine. I kept sending him a bottle every hour. The poor fellow.

Documentation, an interesting method. I prefer to task forgiveness rather than permission.

Oh yes, I'm Byron, Lord Byron Talimah. My father is / was a Pathfinder of little note. I'm sure you've never heard of him. I only recall the dodger whenever he comes looking for monetary assistance.

I use my pimp stick (cane) and only pull the sword out if dueling.

Catch off guard, Rogue / Fighter with disarm and shatter defenses trees.

I strolled among the dusty books
and obtained a series of silly looks.

From readers, writers, and archival peasants,
Dear Abadar! I have forgotten my pants.

I chanced upon a weeping Irisani Monk
Dear Sir why are you in such a funk

My Lord he wept I now truly know
Why not to eat the yellow snow

I hear Drandle Dreng has been to the apothecary for little blue pills.