[/sblock]"Jus da same, bruddah. Lookin' fer work, bu I an I issa looking for a agen' a da schism[FONT="][/FONT] too. Da Spidah issa 'opin ta fin both."
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...he finishes his fourth ale in five minutes.
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[/sblock]"Da Bumbaclot Babylon don murda I's mos iya Bruddah!" Spider said, slamming his fist on the bar. "I an I gonna return da fava, dis I know."
[/sblock]Rain and thunder spill into the room as the tavern door opens once gain. A well sized half-elf with long hair and clad in iron steps through, water cascading of the polished armor in small streams. He took a moment at the door way to wring his hair dry and adjust the heavy shield he carried on his back, attempting to appear at least mildy couth despite the weather.
"Greetings patrons!" He says in a firm voice. "I am Eraden, and if anyone is in need of a protector, my services are for hire."
He moves to the far end of the bar with a fairly graceful stride despite the obvious weight of his armor. After taking a seat he unwraps a sequence of strung silver beads from his left wrist and gathered his unmanaged hair into a ponytail, the silver shimmering against his dark blue hair. With a nod and a smile Eraden calls over the bar tender.
"Evening sir. I'll have what the dwarf is having." He says as he points to a rather stout and boisterous dwraf. He removes a gold peice from a small pouch and places it on the counter. "I think I may be here a while." He says, thinking a warm meal and mug of ale is by far better time spent then in the storm.
At this comment, the drow rolls his eyes, "Indeed, I am paying for the ale at present." His voice sounds polite, but annoyed. Though it's obvious that it's not the loss of money, but rather the company he distastes. Turning to the dwarf and watching the ale run down his beard, the dark elf shivers with disgust, "You have a great deal to learn my stout friend, this...thing," he indicates Eradin, "is certainly no kin of mine."[sblock=Insight/History DC 15]Something about this guy's statement doesn't make sense. Technically, the drow are kin to elves. Is he implying that he's not a drow, or is he implying that he wishes no affiliation with other elvenkind? After watching him a while, the former seems to be more likely. Something is definitely not right.[/sblock]"No need fer ye money, lad. Yer fellow elf-kin is payin' fer tha time bein'."
"Unfortunately, no. I require a thief, and perhaps a magician of some significant skill," he sips his wine, "and since you seem to be neither, and, might I add, a little green" he draws the word out a little and smiles cynically, "I think you'd best enjoy the ale while your short life lasts." He raises his glass and his voice, "A toast to your short and romantic lives! May you never see old age, but live long enough to make a story of yourselves that will outlast even the dragons!"Sir - thanks for the ale! I'm not a...what you're looking for...but do have any other jobs?
[sblock=Perception DC 12]The drow is now sipping his eighth goblet of wine, and remains quite lucid.[/sblock]He's going to make that elf regret his shiny platinum piece even if he has to drink himself unconscious - not that he's adverse to such an action.
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