Enter the Sparrow
"Well well, what have we here," came a sly voice from the entrance, "an Ogre in an Orc skin?
Grogg looked up from behind his massive blade and lost his toothy smile. There at the doorway stood a striking figure of a man, dressed in fine silks of outlandish colors and wearing a wide rimed hat with a dashing multi colored peacock feather sticking out of its head band, stood a lithe yet incredibly charming Elf. He had thigh high thick black leather boots that clanked loudly when he walked.
He strolled into the Red Dragon Inn with great flare and sweeping gestures. Making his way to the bar he paused at each of the serving wenches and whispered into their ears. The girls giggled and playfully accepted a slight peck at their cheeks and an occasional pinch of their rumps. The barmaids took it all in stride and blushed with embarrassment.
"Greetings one and all," said the elf as he leaped onto the bar to be on par with the great height of Grogg, Son of Grogg.
"Allow me to introduce myself, I am Robillard Lath’ eon, an Oratory motivator, I inspire heroism in others of Epic proportions,” he said as he stooped from the bar to almost whispering distance to the ear of Grogg, Son of Grogg. “I can make great things happen with just words, no big pig sticks or fancy spells,” he said slyly shifting his gaze towards the far corner where Calamar the Dark had faded a bit more into the shadows.
“With but words I can inspire the weak to be strong, the cowards to stand fast and the brave to flee like a cat to water. With but words I can calm the savage beast or,” he lowered his voice a bit more so that only Grogg, Son of Grogg could hear, and with out a moments hesitation the might Half-Orc stood erect and roared in rage. Grogg reached for his awesome blade, but Robillard was faster and had placed his boot upon the blade so that he could not lift it.
“Nah, ah,” said Robillard, “let’s keep it civil, shall we?”
Grogg immediately turned and waded into the common room of the bar where he picked up the nearest chair and smashed it over the head of the nearest patron.
The traditional bar fight lasted for a good ten minutes when Joe, standing at the bar trying to protect the last chair that was not broken from the rage of the giant Half-Orc noticed Robillard playfully engaged in conversation with a barmaid, as he lay on the counter drinking rum front the bottle. Robillard met his gaze and forced himself to a sitting position as Joe approached. He placed his thigh high leather boots on the broken end of a bar stool and, with flare, placed his forearm over his knee and placed his other hand on his hip, looking down at Joe from under the protective wide rimed hat.
“No harm done there mate, all in for just a bit O’ fun.” However, Joe did not seem amused, in fact he started to turn red behind the ears.
“Say there now, Joe is it,” said Robillard, “Fret not, I have it all in control, I am a master of the melody of chaos,” and as if to demonstrate he stood on the bar and pulled forth a whistle. Joe braced his ears for a loud shriek but was surprised to hear from the ordinary whistle a slight melody, smooth and calming to the ears. Grogg, Son of Grogg, released his grip on five men he had been grappling with and they fell to the floor with a thud. The room went quite with all in the room straining to hear the soft yet hypnotic melody as it hung in the air. Robillard, with a quick flick of his wrist, made the small object disappear into the loose folds of his loud clothes and took a deep bow on the bar, removing his wide rimed hat to allow his thick, golden corn silk locks fall into his face.
“My name is Robillard the mighty, Robillard the silver Tongued, Robillard the master of Lies but come now my friends, only those who wish me harm call me by that name, come my friends and drink with Sparrow, word smith to the masses, the puppet master, the tongue twister,” and with that last statement every girl in the room blushed in anticipation.
“My bar,” cried Joe.
“Bravo, bravo,” came a reply from the entrance to the inn and all turned their gaze towards the door to see a man dressed in typical Royal dress at the door. He threw out a large bag of coins and it landed on the bar, platinum and gold flew out of the sack.
“It would seem Robillard that you do have the bloody gift for gab that you boasted. He are your winning, good day sir,” and with that he turn and left in a flash of rage.
“Good sir, it seems that I have won my wager, and I have, in anticipation of this out come, made arrangements for the local wood smith to bring forth new chairs and décor to redecorate your fine establishment. Most of this bag of gold is his, the rest is yours, provided you offer drinks enough for everyone. Look there, even now new furnishing are arriving,” and the doors opened and a squad of people filled the room with new chairs and tables.
Joe look at the large heap of coins and knew in an instant that, in spite of the trouble this Sparrow had caused, that he was getting the better end of the deal, and strangely, he felt a warm spot for the mischievous man.
Well into the night Robillard the Sparrow told tales of brave knights and heroic Ladies who fought with bravery and honor. Every once and a while he would break up the stories with a bit of tumbling and Sleight of Hand.
