The Amazing Brando's page

"I say call me Sir Brando the Amazing!"

"Aside from Faylon and yourself, I have no business whatsoever with any of the others." Brando grins and flashes a small patch bearing the symbol of the Order of the Moon. "Come with me and you will find what you are looking for."

The man shoots a sharp glance at Leondro's very public mention of the High Lord, but Bart is the one who earns his attention.

Hand on the hilt of his sword, he sets a challenging stance and arches an eyebrow.

"I am the Amazing Brando." He says, as if you should already know.

"I agree! My timing is excellent!" Brando gives Faylon's arm and friendly smack. "And right now it's time for another drink. I'm staying at an inn just up the road. Come along and bring your friends. Share another cup with and tell me what you've been up to."

Brando turns on his heel and swaggers off, doffing his hat at other folks in the street. As he does a whisper comes to Faylon's ear by magic.

"High Lord Athlan awaits."

"As I live and breathe, is that Faylon I spy stumbling forth from a drinking hole? Hmm.. I detect a scent of flaming whiskey and burned barstools. Did I miss some excitement?"

There are many kinds of agents in the Order of the Moon. Some slip among the shadows in alleys and dockyards unseen. Others loiter among inns and taverns like fishermen, using their keen ears like nets. A few use magic to glean truth or scry from afar. The man swaggering down the street is none of these.

He is a swarthy man in fine studded leather with a blue half-cloak trailing off his left shoulder. His hair is dark and well-oiled, as is his curled mustache. His jaw bears a five o'clock shadow at ten in the morning. A fine rapier hangs at his side, held like one ready to offer a challenge of steel. He calls himself the Amazing Brando, and he prefers to draw so much attention to himself that no one would ever think him a Galadan spy.