"[i]Oh! Well, if that glass of wine isn't enough company for you, there is plenty of room over here, why don't you sit with your Lady and tell me how my prince came to be in a place like this?[/i]”

Huh, who would have guessed? Not only was this hobgoblin curved like a forest nymph, but she was smart, too. Not that his agenda had been hidden by much more than a translucent veil, but she was a hobgoblin, for crying out loud! She was supposed to be brawny and dumb, not brainy and curvy.

Ah well, at least his chances never quite fell to ground, as long as a woman let him speak to her. He still had his status with the Kingdom, his status in the army and his regal good looks. And if all that should fail, he still had money. A woman who was hard to get, would always be that much more satisfying to bed.

He gave off a small, carefully measured laugh. Too much would make him seem desperate, as if she was just [i]so[/i] funny that he had to ask her home with him. Too little would make him seem arrogant, as if he was certain he would bring her home nonetheless. It really was an artform; courting a woman. A man is much easier. Ask him to come with you and promise him that nothing will come near his backside and he is in it for the worst.

“[i]I fear you are mistaken, my Lady. I am no Prince; I am merely a Duke,[/i]” he replied smoothly, brushing a crimson bang from his face, as he slid into the seat next to her, bringing his wine with him, “[i]At least I will be, on my hundreth birthday. But that is not for another human lifetime. Right now, I am with the Earroldian army,[/i]” he added, smiling as warmly as he could with her nervousness tingling in the back of his mind, “[i]Most men would cough out some lie of how they simply wish to help their country, but not me. I never lie, my Lady.[/i]”

He stopped there, waiting for her to react in some way. She was a hard nut to crack; he knew nothing of what was going on in her mid. He needed to get her talking about her life, rather than have her listen to his sad tales. He needed to know if she was his type of woman. Sex was all fine and good, but he perferred races like hobgoblins and dwarves for their dominant nature. Their violent nature. He felt a bit hot just thinking about it. Luckily, the red of his hair tended to drown out all redness on his face. And he resisted the urge to rub the morbid skin alteration on his chest.

Instead, he decided to reach for his wine, without looking away from the beautiful creature before him. He missed, though, which was quite unusual. His hand was always drawn to a goblet of wine like a moth to a flame; he could not possibly miss, even if he was not looking. He glanced in the direction of his wine, just to measure the distance. Had it moved? He did not have time to study it closely, though, and just reached for it again; missing once more. He glanced again. It had moved! By now, he was certain that his “date” had also noticed. If not, he might have given her brains too much credit. He reached for it one more time, this time staring intently at it out eh corner of his eye and – It moved! He almost fell from his seat, attempting to grab the goblet.

“[i][b]Rhachon le![/b][/i]” he exclaimed, reverting back to the tongue he had spoken for the past fifty years with his family. Swears and curses were not very common in the Elfin tongue, though, and the Elfin tongue was no longer very common.
“[i]Did you see that?[/i]” he added, turned back towards his “date”.

-===============-

"[i]Razzalorn Timmindale, your mightiness, at your service. Don't worry yourself, I don't intend to cause any harm, I simply happen to have found myself in a teensy spot of bother and was wondering if there were any powerful knights such as yourself who could be... kind enough to escort me to a little old bar in the outer circle where I can heal myself up. We ARE near Earroldir, yes?[/i]"

Sandee raised an eyebrow at the man. He was attempting flatter when his neck was on the line, quite literally. He spoke like a Grapholan snake. Sadly, he was not on of her soldiers and she was not out on the battlefield, or she would have had his head on a stake.

“[i]Normally, I would never lead a wounded man to his own demise, but you are not one of [b]my[/b] men,[/i]” she stated with a look of clear disgust on her face at his state. With a simple jerk of her hand, two of the squires under her command stood by her side, making themselves look small as if not to attract her wrath, “[i]Bring this man where he wishes. It is not my job to judge him; Klavon will do that for us,[/i]” she stated with sneer before taking her boot off of the man's neck and continuing on her way. The squires fidgeted beside the man, waiting for him to tell them what to do.