<div class="floatleft">(http://www.drakonis.org/uploads/7/v/0/7v0ng7m0e3/2010/09/23/20100923140525-f61c0dcf.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_u">Half-Elf Rogue:</span></span></span><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;">Lebanon Faltir</span></span><br/><em>Master of Locks and Thievery</em><br/>Character Sheet (http://plothook.net/RPG/profiler/view.php?id=8636); 10 HP (Current 10); AC 15<br/>Bolts:  10 in quiver<br/><hr/><br/>The willowy plumes of smoke continued to ascend curvaceously skyward, the tip of his cigarra still burned dispassionately.  Nothing in his remote corner stirred when the new entrants brought the sounds from the outside into the tavern.  He did not move when Thalia entered.  Neither did he stir when Fenris entered.  For Starr, the man in the dark was plagued by ambivalence.  But when Talanna entered, someone who was perceptive would see that shining beacon, as slight as it was, followed Talanna's gait as if it were tethered to it.  When she sat, the ashen tip stopped.  For a moment, the man in the dark stared.<br/><br/>Then, he guffawed.  It was like a tsk at first.  The sort that said, 'yeah, riiiight.'  To what?  Who knows.  The man was not sane.  But his guffaw turned into a chuckle.  And then the chuckle turned into a laugh.  A sinister, boyish laugh that became thunderous.  It sounded like the man was on the verge of choking.  His feet slammed against the ground repeatedly.  His arms flew with great violence, slamming the seat beside him into the wall.<br/><br/>"Ha ha ha!  Oh, what a clever joke, Prince of Thieves," he said, gasping for air.   "I thought this was going to be a job.  Not a business proposition to open a whorehouse.  I don't really see how you could possibly make use of my services for that.  Unless these women have magically-sealed chastity belts, but looking at them, I highly doubt it."