Out of the many possible ways he had foreseen that conversation going, casual acceptance of his leadership was not one of them. He had met more Elves and Dwarfs than he cared to remember, and the vast majority of them, he would describe in less than charitable terms. The same went for Bretonnians - Baltazar had certainly never thought [i]they[/i] would accept being led by a foreign peasant, and he wasn't sure if their silence was a sign of assent, or if they were simply ignoring him. As the conversation moved on to different subjects, he simply stayed silent and observed the rest of the room, until the discussion was interrupted by Jehan's polite retreat. 

"Good idea." In truth, Baltazar thought it was an awful idea, as he would have much preferred to continue his observations. He had a sense, though, that this would mark the dissolution of their group for the night, and damned if he was going to sit quietly and wait for the others to decide whether to stay or leave. "We've one last night on shore, and just enough time before the ship leaves to sleep off the rum tomorrow. See you then, gentlemen," he said, and with a slap on his knee, he rose and headed for the door.

Unconstrained by his employer's directions, he found himself on quicker paths, and it was only a block or two down the road that he stepped into an alleyway - well out of sight - and the shadows swallowed him. 

[center]- -- --- -- -[/center]

The Pelican's Perch wasn't the most reputable place, but Baltazar wasn't picky, and it was close to the right end of the harbor, while still providing adequate amounts of wine and women - even though neither could be considered particularly tasty. Song was absent entirely, unless you counted the eponymous pelican's angry squawking.

So it was that the Perch's front door was the one he stumbled out through that morning, hauling a bundle full of replacement swords, ammunition, lockpicks and sundry with him to the [i]Wellenbrecher[/i]. Staying on a ship was nothing unusual to Baltazar, although he could not for the life of him imagine what use a fire wizard might be on a floating piece of wood and tar. He returned the mage's greeting without shaking hands, pointing to his bundle, and slunk by with a nod to the anonymous beauty. Having his own room was always a delight on a long journey, and cross the ocean would be a fair sight longer than most he'd been on. Baltazar quickly made himself at home, arranged his luggage for safety and easy access, and settled in to let the crew do their work.

When they were finally let out again, Baltazar only enjoyed a quick stretch before he set about his work. He had many weeks - perhaps months - to work, but it was always best to work on personal relationships before anyone had time to sour them. It was a party of oddballs he had to work with, that was certain, but if they were going to fight their way through Lustria together, they would have to do some team building.

"Ho, sir knight. Getting your sea legs?" It was lucky the knight spoke Reikspiel so well; Baltazar's Bretonnian vocabulary didn't stretch very far beyond 'more wine' and 'hold the garlic'. Putting his hands on the railing, he took a deep breath of sea air - after the filth and squalor of Marienburg, it was heavenly.

"It's quite the sight, sun setting over the ocean." He looked out to see, then back to Jehan, "careful about looking too long, though. All that water reflects a lot of light. You could go bli- ahem," his gaze briefly flitting to the knight's bad eye, he coughed into his hand, then offered it for a shake, "I mean, ahem... Baltazar Engels, professional mercenary, treasure hunter, and a few other things, at your service. There wasn't much time for proper introductions last night, and since we'll be fighting side by side in the months to come, we should know where we've got one another."