a stranger...'s page

"Oh, found a slip did you. Hey slip, why don't cha come sit on my lap. My prick is about as big as you, think you can take it?"

To the second lewd comment she has received in as many minutes, the halfling smiles politely, even slightly blushing in a response of practiced and calculated embarrassment to Darean then looks to the new arrival at her table. "I think I'd be fine... And I'll also have to pass," the woman says in reply Darean's comment, but speaks the response to Armiar, and only loud enough her own table to hear. "In my experience, those who are so insistent on the size of their pricks almost never are overcompensating with exaggeration." Her words are laced thickly with sarcasm as she expertly avoids acknowledging Arimar's previous comment.

"I was born in cheliax, actually," she begins now. "So I know firsthand of his people's hospitality toward we mere slips." It is clear the stranger is in fact referring to the slavery of her people.

By this time the obnoxious Darean has retreated for a few moments to the bathroom, and the stranger takes his leave to speak further to the table. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person at last, Arimar. I feel slightly ashamed it has taken us this long to meet. In a way, I feel like I know you already... My name is Gwendolyn Mehra..." she says politely, introducing herself and casting a smile at the aasimar.

"For this, like some of the most pleasurable activities in life that you and the Paralictor speak of, I was hoping we could enjoy a drink beforehand to... loosen our tongues... and help us to get to know each other," she says, clearly implying more than her mere words. "And also like such life affirming activities, I hoped we could take our time and truly savor the moment. Maybe even enjoying a bit of privacy."

She stares at Arimar for a few moments without speaking, gazing into his eyes and trying in vain to get a read on the aasimar. "I don't mean to be yet another cog in some vast machine vying for you and your friend's attentions. Nor do I wish to provide only
mere hints and half-truths... I wish to speak to you about your employer... and point of fact, more specifically... her daughter... For there are things I think you should know, especially if you wish to approach a relationship with Mistress Lanvi on a more equal footing.

"But as I'm sure you can see," she begins to end her droning, long winded explanation to the table. "Such conversations are perhaps not advised to occurs under the nose of an insulted and short tempered Paralictor."

Signaling to a passing barmaid, the halfling leans in almost romantically close, the motion even carrying a slight air of seductive intent, to the young woman's ear. It is unclear what words pass between the female hafling and the barmaid, but at once the young worker bustles off to speak with Orvan at the bartop. Moments later the barmaid returns to the halfling, and deposits a glass of chelish red before her. Curiously, the barmaid also places a second glass of wine before one empty seat at the table, and a stein of ale along with a simple glass of water before a second empty place-setting.

As the time passes, the halfling woman sips at her wine, nodding politely and smiling at those who happen to make eye contact with her. However, when Malgrim and Arimar are found to look her way, and their eyes meet even for a moment, she glances down to the lonely drinks sitting unaccompanied across the table from herself, then blushes with another knowing smile.

Bluff check to pass secret message, DC = 15 (take 10): 10 + 5 = 15

An introduction inside the Pinches and Palming...

The companions, having made their way into a tavern, seemingly at random, begin their discourse with (the some might say obnoxiously loud) Darean Haist. As the portly man, unwieldy swinging his well endowed belly, creates a general ruckus and uproar, so pleased to have unthinking and mindless followers laughing at his jokes, he is unable to notice a small halfling slip into the establishment. After a short walk, dodging between the bustling patrons, the woman takes a seat at a recently vacated table.

As the female halfling slides onto the chair, dropping a backpack to the floor that seems overly-packed and on the verge of splitting seams with all manor of gear stuffed inside, her brown flowing hair jounces with a playful spring. Looking around the room, her large, luminous brown eyes catch the torchlight filling the room and sparkle brilliantly. When she makes eye contact with any random patron or worker, she grins, parting her lips with a knowing smile, as her eyes even seem to grow and widen, pulling in the glances of those surrounding randoms as if she were creating a gravity of her own.