Of course Thomas Hobbes, how presomtious of me, I am new to this whole playing by post thing. Okay, I can play it that way. In order to capture the mood, I included the first part of the text, your response, and more to the point where I think you may reply, if you wish.
The Red Dragon Inn is, as normal, quite busy. People coming and going about all manner of secret business, not offering the time of day to others, let alone a friendly smile. In the far corner of the Inn, next to the enormous fire place, sit a figure of lively entertainment. His thigh high black leather boots and vibrantly colored silk clothes and wide rimmed hat make him hard to miss. Those who were near him hung on his every word for he was a minstrel of the land and his voice was his instrument, his words, a poetry of life. He was an oratory man of myth.
His keen Half Elven ears perked up at the sound coming from the far off bar. While it was customary for others to buy one another drinks, this strange mix of fellows seemed odd somehow. He excused himself, much to the disappointment of his attentive audience, and made way for the counter. Feinting interest in a 21 year bottle of wine he eased drop on the conversation taking place a few seats away.
"Forgive me, for the intrusion My Lady," said Robillard, walking by the party in a casual manner and at the opportune time, paused dramatically and delicately reached for Fant's hand, cupping it into his own.
Fant tenses at the slight contact, and then cooly withdraws her hand.
"You are forgiven," she says noncommitally. This has not been the first time her hand was taken in such a courtly manner, but those times were long ago and a long way away from here in stately ballrooms, not in a tavern, albiet a very good one, and the people taking her hands were, if unknown to her, guests invited into her father's or uncle's house, not strangers. She does not take kindly to the presumption.
"May I help you?"
Robillard, unaccustomed to others acting unfriendly towards his advances, innocent in intent or otherwise, quickly recovers his wits about him and slides the hand, intended to caress Fant's delicate palm, to his wide rimed hat and adjusts it nonchalantly, as if that was his intent all along.
"Again, forgive me for my intrusion My Lady, Fant is it," said Robillard with a deep sweeping bow, " I could not but help myself from over hearing your distress. My name is Robillard Lath'eon, an Oratory teller of tales and epic deeds from across the lands, but you, my lady may call me Sparrow," he said and he flashed a slight rosy blush at the elusive Fant, his grin hidden in his deeply chiseled features of his Elven heritage. Given the more serious nature of the fair maiden, that he had first assumed, he opted for a more serious tone himself, forgetting, at least for the moment, his more playful side.
"My Lady Fant," he continued, "it appears that you have a tale to be told, for I can see it rooted in your eyes. That something weighs so heavily upon your heart that it mars your beauty. Imprisons it inside the chambers of your heart. You know my name kind lady, and you may think it rude of me to make presumptions, but I cannot stand by idly while an innocent flower withers from a deep unchecked wound. Will you, if you do not find it to bold, share some time with me and tell me of your woes?
The keen eyed noticed a figure who shadowed Robillard's every move, from the warmth of the hearth to the bar and now just a stones throw to the gathering of this band of strangers. Short, standing only 4'7," she carried herself with a weight of confidence of a man twice her size.
"If you insist, I shall retreat to the hearth and tell my tales to the children, and leave you to your misfortune," he mused, still trying to crack a slight smile from the cold and unpredictible Fant.
The shadowing firgure, whos features where covered within the deep cowl of her traveling cloak, rolled her eyes in dissatisfaction of the mischievous elf. Those with keen ears swore they could her her mumble, "
well, he is Half Elf."
Well, I tend to be a bit wordy I guess, oh well . Oh, for the record, I am trying to get into my first play by post adventure, I am unsure if you are a DM out to hire a party for an adventure or a player who got screwed over on another adventure. You guys are the first people I saw in the Inn for over a week, so I don't know how it works. I really don't care which, cause it is fun to just write a response every once and a while, but could you clarify?