The man had another one of those drinks, known to most as Mortar Men, before looking Sbatarra in the eye again. In spite of what had to have been terribly curdled liqueur being drunk, his breath did not stink, instead smelling sweet and mildly of citrus, nowhere near as powerful as the straight, raw smell must have been for the drow, something like having a wad of lime pudding in his mouth. His voice was very smooth for someone who looked so gruff, and the tone was not especially deep, though it was most thoroughly masculine. In that voice, his tone a crafty one with much confidence. "You look shady enough to be willing to do much for a good few coins, and with that many weapons at your fingertips, you must be decent at fighting."<br/><br/>He leaned on the counter, resting on his elbow. "I, milady, am Baltazar Rosso. I need a second for a duel with that warrior-woman that garnered herself quite the reputation around these parts. I promise the fighting will be fierce, and the pay will be well worth it." He gave his lap a pat, the jingle being a mixture of his armor and the pouch of coins that hung from his belt.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>