[h3][b][i][color=D2691E][center]Thelin[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h3]
[center][b][color=D2691E]Location:[/color][/b] Crossed Swords Tavern
[b][color=D2691E]Interacting With:[/color][/b] Fenmal[/center]

Thelin sat with Femnal, trading stories of homes they had left and spells they had cast on travelers in good fun. The two hit it off like brothers and the ale helped as well. That was until the smell hit. A glorious, heavenly trumpet ripped through the tavern, shaking the entire facility and silencing all patrons withing. Maybe the holy man who thought he was a woman was finally getting his prayers answered by an angry god, or an orcish war horn was blown right above all of their heads. It was a sound no human could naturally make for sure, Thelin wasn't even certain he could recreate it with magic with the help of his whole village back home. He looked to Femnal who in turned looked at him and the two then looked around as if in sync, with the same attitudes. Everyone was shocked but nobody was ready for the smell.

It became obvious what kind of horn had sounded above their heads quickly, as Thelin quickly rolled a constitution saving throw to see whether or not he'd puke, lucking the gods were smiling upon him and he held the ale he had just drank within his gut. [color=chocolate]"What in the name of... whatever god that cleric prays to did that man eat?"[/color] Thelin choked out, his hummingbirds all diving for his backpack to avoid the smell. Five distinct puff noises meant they were all safe within his pack, and Thelin ran out the door, or at least tried to. He got to a window, which wasn't blocked by the legs of elves and men over twice his height. The window wouldn't budge but Thelin wasn't a quitter. He hopped up on the windowsill, and using his entire body's strength opened it up and took a deep breath in as fresh air wafted in.

He turned around and sat in the window and looked around the room. A few individuals stood out. These would be the people who could take him to see the orc wars. A ranger, that cleric, the man who could release hellish fury from his backside, the woman who offered to buy him a drink, and a few others all made the list. He would have to slip them a note to meet him before the next battle to escort him. He could always sneak in but most battles were not surrounded by a lot of cover which was ideal for a rogue such as himself. He stared at all of these people, not hiding it. A little prestidigitation made him glow a bit to draw attention, but not too much of it. He had to test their perception. Those who looked would probably get a note handed to them, those who did not would simply find it in their pockets.