[center][color=0076a3][h2]Dr. Thomas Arthur Rudhale[/h2][/color][/center]

[@Happy Go Lucky]

The "bird man" acknowledged your greeting with his own. Disengaging eye contact with the woman across the inn for a moment and engaging with you, the beak of his mask lowered. It drooped, descending, ricocheting at a certain depth back upward. It continued to ascend before his beak was forward once again, and his dark eye holes returned to the figure he was watching before. The entire process was slow, or had it just taken longer than the white mage wished? It wasn't normal, that you were sure of.

--
A host of characters wandered in. Despite the extremity of their personality and character, Thomas procrastinated interaction for the time being. They were powerful, abnormals, unnaturals, all sorts of mythical and legendary creatures. The rarity of such a flock was just beyond probability; had they been summoned here? By an artificer? The face of Lazerus floated in Dr. Rudhale's mind. His thurible waned, but held on, continuing a voluminous outpour of smoke from its hollow. If any creatures that wandered in were affiliated to the occult and/or were of unnatural birth, they would smell burning ash of the smoke. Additionally, they would likely water at the eyes and have their throats dried. Otherwise, the grace of honeysuckle and earth graced their sensual ambience, and nothing more.
--
[@Irisity] (Eslea)

But no, she was the one Dr. Rudhale focused upon of all characters. Po hopped about on the plague doctor's shoulders, flapping his wings and strutting his neck forward, forward toward Eslea even as she approached. It made strange clicking noises, but Eslea could not discern their meaning. The half-demon far surpassed Dr. Rudhale's stature, nearly half a foot his superior. Her eyes didn't water. They were upon hallowed ground. Perhaps she would be the one to finally know. The doctor hunched sideways to release his grip upon a brown suitcase. It hit the floor with a jostle. Thomas' free leather hand came to meet Eslea's own. His grip was firm, not overbearing, but practiced. His face was completely ambiguous, as the only feature of his face was his mask and hollow, dark eyes. [color=0076a3]"Cambion, you may be the one I seek. Come, chat awhile, order what you desire,"[/color] Dr. Rudhale said. He spoke matter-of-factly, as if he were reading off a grocery list. Thomas had mentioned you as a cambion, but this was no insult. Or else, it didn't feel like one. A cambion was the child of a demon and another race, one naturally born into the world. It was a tell of information for why his raven squabbled so, but its interpretation was left for Eslea to decide. 

The doctor pulled back a stool in front of you and tapped it lightly, twice, with his leather hand. Next to it he pulled back another, and slid onto the wood, swiveling towards the bar. He set down his thurible with a clanking of chain and metal. Thomas clasped his hands together. He swiveled his neck, looking towards you. Smoke continued to pour from the thurible, rising from behind the mask of the plague doctor. Did you accept his invitation?