They had often told him during his childhood years that cities tended to attract the worse people about. And, that within cities, inns and taverns attracted the worse of the worse. Balfor had listened attentively--they were, after all, his parents and older relatives as well as various mentors and his village's respected elders; but, it was mostly listening with one ear, as his mind had been set off by tales from a passing minstrel and he wished nothing more than to be out in the wilds, away from the village.<br/><br/>Balfor decided he had certainly managed to do that as he sat in the large taproom. He hoped he did not give off the appearance of merely a villager. He had found a caravan master who swapped out some leather armor and a few weapons for a decent stack of rabbit and squirrel pelts, and then hired on to help escort the wagons to the next village and have a bit more money in his pocket.<br/><br/>Somehow, though, the next village had turned into several villages, and then to Caergoth. He was not so certain how or why he had managed to come to this place. It was so much larger than his village had been, and seemed to be full--as he was warned--of dangerous people.<br/><br/><em>She doesn't seem so dangerous</em>Balfor thought as he watched the wenches at work while he ate and had some ale to warm him from the rain. It wasn't a hard rain, true, but it seemed to seep into all of his clothes and was just warm enough to make him sweat and add to the moisture from the other side. He watched a slight figure dealing with the door to the place and smiled.<br/><br/><em>Nor does she...nice smile...</em>He gave a light chuckle to himself and took another drink. He licked the foam from his moustache as he watched Joli fold back her hood.<br/><br/><em>Nice eyes, too.</em><br/>-----<br/>8-)