"I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding here," said Baltazar, leaning forward on his elbows as he steepled his fingers. "Maybe it's the language barrier getting in the way. I was referring to our employer, not to whoever might end up leading us through wherever we're heading. But on that note, unless the boss wants that honour for himself, I nominate myself." Leaning back, he jerked his thumb toward himself. As he leaned back, he paused briefly in surprise as he noticed an elf taking up the chair next to him, and before Baltazar could do much about that, their employer made his entry.

Baltazar didn't know what he had expected, but certainly not [i]that[/i]. He heard out the orders with a grim expression, and even through the magic dreams of glory, his lips remained a thin line as he stared straight at the man at the end of the table. After his disappearance, Baltazar uncorked his hip flask and took a long swig. Staring at the floor, he heaved a deep sigh, pinched the bridge of his nose, then looked back up at the rest of the room.

"So, where were we? Ah yes, I should lead," he declared, instantly turning back into the cocksure mercenary. "Age aside, I've commanded men across the Old World, on sea and on land, from Norsca to Sartosa. Killing monsters is all well and good, but leadership, that's another matter." He waggled his finger at the Dwarf.

"My name's Baltazar Engels, by the way."