never ran a pbp game...thought about it...
The stranger rises from his seat, a broad smile forming on his lips: "No, lass. Sadly no. Zaal's me name. Mayhaps I could be your hero, though." He bows, eyeing her protectors all the while. His hat nearly falls from his head. His hand shoots up, reseating it atop his head. The bow and recovery were all one motion. (random should wait for everyone else to post, though)Caesura stoops to pass through the doorway of the small tavern, unnatural height merely another among the litany of transformations wrought by whatever had empowered her. Behind her, taller still at an imposing eight feet of glistening steel, two servitors make what might in other circumstances be comical contortions to fit through a door meant for ordinary mortals. They are constructed of sturdy bone, joints reinforced with iron, wrapped in fine linen, richly perfumed, and covered almost entirely in steel plate, their feet clanking loudly in the sudden silence that follows her entrance. The armour had proven necessary after one too many village fled in terror or attempted to prostrate themselves and throw their meagre wealth at her feet when she arrived.
She wears a long hooded travelling cloak bisected with white above and black below, a black tree extending up into the white and a white tree extending down into the black. Beneath the shadow of the hood sctintillating eyes that seem constantly to subtly shift in colour shine unnaturally in the low light, set in brown skin flecked with green and perhaps brighter colours still towards the back. She surveys the crowd in the tavern, and her eyes settle on the man with the mandolin. "I seek the hero Orrin. He of fists of iron. Are you he?" she asks, softly but with the tone of one not accustomed to being denied.
Zaal can see one or two low-lives trying to work up the courage to try and abscond with some of that finery, but without success. Must be the mountain of a man blocking the doorway, or one of the others in the vicinity.Caesura casts a wary calculating glance at Monsieur Gold as he rises. "It seems we find ourselves at a mutual disadvantage," she observes dryly. So, he is an associate of Just a Local FIghter Orrin. That complicates things. She scans the room. People are looking at him in all that gold. He isn't invisible. No one's fled screaming. Impossible to know what they're seeing if he's some kind of sorcerer. He could be compelling them to calm. He feels safe wearing that much gold in a small village like this with no guards. He's very confident he can take care of himself. If this is the company Orrin keeps, suddenly these rumours seem considerably more credible.
"My apologies. If you and Mr. Orrin have a prior arrangement, I have no wish to intrude." She turns back to Orrin, who is very effectively blocking the primary means of egress, "My name is Caesura. I merely sought to enlist your services to fight for me. Locally." I could possibly outbid him, but I hardly need more powerful enemies. No one's made any hostile moves, let's see if we can't get out of this without a fight.
"I commend you on your universal utility, Mr. Zaal. Guile is a rare and admirable strength; rarer still to find one who remarks upon it possesses it. Should I require your heroic intervention, I'll know where to find you." I very much hope I do not.