<hr/>NPC: Bookseller (Dallphebo)<br/>Tagging: Jin, Galacia, Calathes<br/><hr/>The heavy-joweled man over his scrolls and books seems almost to sneer back at Jin's amicable greeting.  The newcomer's voice turns a couple of curious eyes at first, but the bookman's beady, piercing eyes show no twitch of anger.<br/><br/>He emits a dry, closed-mouthed laugh, and his voice is surprisingly deep and gravely in response.  "I should most certainly hope not," he intones, his accent and enunciation crisp and belying an education, "if ye be helping good men to their graves this even'."<br/><br/>That comment, of course, turns a few heads.  Dockmen and traders alike from the table behind them swivel their heads at that, though most of the room has not overheard and is fixated on Bairne's play-acted tale of a mid-feast visit to a neighbor's comely daughter and being ridden from town on a rail.<br/><br/>"Unless ye' be at the right of the Divine," his thick tongue and short neck form each word with a deliberate choral quality, "and unmaking be not your course, in which case a purchase from my books would do ye' good, as with all men."  A bubble of silence lingers about then, and the voice of the entertainer seems more distant and cloyed in that tension.<br/><br/>A tavern-girl edges up, her wiry frame bending to fill Jin's cup as she offers more of the Sangre and whispers softly.  "Give 'im no mind.  No trouble from 'im, he just talks."  And she bustles away.<br/><br/><hr/>NPC: Cigarmaker (Rossi)<br/><hr/>The half-elven woman lifts her smoky gray eyes to Brogan at his approach, seeming to soften as she gives him a subtle once-over.  Removing her cigar from its perch at the corner of her long mouth, she replaces it with a sly and lopsided smile.  "You're new here, I see," she murmurs, tapping ash into a simple clay dish and perching her cigar there.  The smoke is rich, with the smell of cocoa and cinnamon.  She spreads long fingers upon the basket of hand-rolled cigars beside her.  Her long, slim thigh still sits bare, with the half-finished cigar upon it a bow of loose leaves.<br/><br/>"These are locally grown... air-cured for forty-four days."  She gestures for him to examine one, and her dark eyes flash up at him prettily.  "They are but a silver piece... you and your friends should be so lucky, our first lots just sold for far more on the mainland."  She reaches for the cigar she has been smoking and lifts it towards Brogan, giving the half-orc man a sly smile. "See for yourself."