Baltazar stared in disbelief as the dwarf shimmied up the skinny tree. Never mind that the dwarf was capable of such things, but the tree even held his weight! Awkwardly thanking Brokk for the fruit, he began the even more awkward process of trying to get it open, as he watched his companions' reactions to their new predicament. Baltazar had always considered himself a keen observer of the mortal condition, and he had a very strong impression he was not alone in distrusting the wizard. Slowly digging the flesh out of his coconut, he followed along, alert for danger.

Not long into their bumbling march, distrust had turned into open contempt. Darren carried on like a street magician, seemingly making up new tricks as he went, with no regard for safety, or even practicality. If Baltazar hadn't known better, he would have thought the wizard went out of his way to use magic at every turn. Before Baltazar's own second sight, the wind of Aqshy swirled and billowed - like a signal fire for anyone to see. The man's general incompetence didn't help things, and Baltazar caught himself staring daggers at Darren as they walked, barely aware of the mosquito swarm he was vainly swatting out of his face.

Trudging through the Lustrain underbrush, the oppressive heat and humidity did nothing to improve Baltazar's mood. He was used to long marches, but this was something else. By the time they stopped, sweat was stinging his eyes, and he could barely feel his feet. He watched wordlessly in stunned disbelief as the wizard first proved to be exactly as useless of a guide as he seemed, greeted an unknown elf with no suspicion, and immediately followed the elf's instructions. Just when he thought his opinion of the man couldn't possibly sink any lower, Darren up and left the camp. Baltazar only stared after him, slowly shaking his head.

When Darren and Listec spoke up, he responded with a mirthless smile. "Thank Ranald, I almost thought [i]I[/i] was the crazy one. I'll come with you - whatever that elf has planned, it can't be good for us."

Loading his crossbow, he kept it in one hand, with his sword in the other. Stalking an elf silently through an unfamiliar jungle would have been a difficult task for any man, but Baltazar had an ace in the hole. As he followed Listec into the woods, teeth grit in solemn concentration, his footsteps grew quieter. Step by step, his presence dimmed - outline blurring, movements less obvious, breathing stilled. Even the stench of sweat seemed to retreat closer to his body, until even the mosquitoes had a hard time finding him. His spell complete, he regarded the forest ahead with grim eyes. All he had to do now was hold on to the magic indefinitely, while keeping an eye out for ambushers, keeping track of Listec, and possibly fighting for his life. What could possibly go wrong?