He smirked as she said his name and pleaded with him. It was the sweet sound of her Fey tongue that pleased his ears. It moved as well as she did. He knew she wasn’t a full elf, but she had all the grace and elegance of one and that grace made it hard for him to ignore her and her delicate features. Her voice was full of hope as she asked him to visit the authorities and pleaded for him to help return what had been stolen by bandits. He liked her sudden forwardness. It was charming in a way he always knew she could be. He knew that deep down she wasn’t the disinterested ice queen she wanted to appear to be. Oh yes, Eller knew what Miriel wanted, even if<em>she</em>didn’t know it yet.<br/><br/>“Little Myr,” he said with his big smile. He had taken to calling her Myr on their journey, a diminutive play on her own name as well as the Hellanian word for beauty. “I set the price when I agreed to take you to Brightgarden. And you agreed to pay it. And now you’re asking me to help you again with the bill unpaid?” He threw his head back and laughed. His thick, muscular chest pushed out, his deep laugh, rich and baritone.<br/><br/>Eller took a step towards Miriel, invading her personal space. He smelled pleasantly of rich oils and wood smoke and his own charming musk. “If you want my help getting your things back and getting you to a tavern so you can dance—then there’s something you’re going to have to do for me.” He put a large hand on her small shoulder and smirked. “And you’re not going to like it.”<br/><br/>[Make a Perception Check (DC 15)]<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Open on Perception Success</div><div class="spoiler_body">Being so close to Eller for the first time reminds Miriel of her encounter with the Bandits. His smell is strangely familiar to how the group of bandits smelled—as if they’d spent time together and had some of the same habits, perhaps bathing and eating the same foods. Miriel further notices a small bulge in his armour—the unmistakable silhouette of a coin purse pressed against his person. Between the bandits having let him keep his sword and the discovery of his purse, it’s as if he had never been robbed at all.</div></div><br/><br/>“If you do something for me,” he continued, “then I promise you, on my honour, I’ll introduce you to the owner of a prestigious tavern in the Uppergarden<em>and</em>get you your things back. But if you don't ... ” His hand moved to her upper arm and lightly squeezed. "Then I'll have to find another way to get what I'm owed."