Traveler's Rest

Thomkin Ballyforth III, proprietor of the Traveler’s Rest Inn, sat sipping his ale and watching his bustling establishment from a corner table with a satisfied smile on his face. When last these eyes saw Thomkin, he was nearly bankrupt, so it is with some pleasure and curiosity that I ...

“What’re ya writin’ witch?”

It is with some pleasure and curiosity that I ...

“Hey! Ya deaf or somethin’? What. are. you. writing? HELLO!?”

Your will, if you don’t shut the hell up.

Thomkin leaned over and looked for himself. “Ah, you finally got around to doing your damn job for the Ink Blot, eh?”

No help from you.

“Took ya long enough. I told ya I wasn’t doin’ yer job for ya no more. And I meant it. It ain’t my fault you drink too much ale and sit around getting fat. Speakin’ of which, ain’t that a new robe, sized double wide?”

Ignoring him except for the mental note she made to fireball him later, the witch went back to her writing. Or tried to, anyway. After a moment she realized she’d forgotten where she was going with her train of thought. She sat muttering under her breath.

Damn it, you little son of a rotting three-eyed undead toad...

“What.”

The witch looked over at Thomkin after a moment that she used to picture him in flames. Calming herself somewhat, she replied.

Nothing. So ... you finally got your customers back from Evil Tim?

“No help from you.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But last time I was here, Evil Tim, that grinning jackanape of a gnome, had stolen all your business. How did you get it back, you mouthy bastard?

Thomkin let her stew a moment before answering while he took another swig of his ale and put it down, looking self-satisfied again with a bit of a smirk on his face.

Well?!?!

Thomkin finally looked over at the witch and said simply, “I hired someone.”

Who?

“Me,” said a voice quietly from behind.

The witch froze in her seat, then slowly reached for her wand of missiles. She was surprised to realize that she hadn’t heard this person approach, and she didn’t like surprises. Not of this sort, anyway.

Thomkin picked up his ale again and resumed looking at the crowd. “Hi Ilia,” he said nonchalantly, not even glancing back. After a happy moment of watching people spend money he became aware that both of his companions had gone silent on him. In the case of the witch this was not a bad thing really, but he felt a certain tension in the air, and with a pyromaniac like her, that could be a bad thing. Rolling his eyes, he waved his other hand without turning around. “Oh get a grip, witch. Ilia is all right. He’s just kinda quiet, that’s all. “

Uh huh.

Ignoring her, Thomkin turned his attention if not his head toward his employee. “What did you want, boy?”

The stranger stepped out of the shadows then so that the witch could see him. She noted that he was very slender even for an elf and was dressed all in black like a thief. The only thing that should have given him away in the shadows was his light blond hair, which at the moment was not covered. The delicate features on his youngish face bore no trace of emotion at all as he looked at Thomkin and replied, “I was wondering, sir, how long you wished for me to leave this Tim person hanging from the rafters of his establishment?”

“Until his former patrons are done using him as a pinata, that’s how long,” Thomkin replied, almost shouting.

The elf’s first expression of the day was one of amusement as he bowed first to Thom and then to the witch and slipped quietly away.

The witch looked over at Thom quizzically. Finally giving a straight answer to her first question, Thom said, “Tim was using charm spells to get people into his establishment, and then stealing them blind while they slept.

And that little elf was able to get through Evil Tim’s defenses and capture the little spud?

“Ayep.”

Impressive. Might I ... borrow him when he’s done with his current task?

“Nope.”

Bastard.

Ilia (3.5 compatible)
Lawful Good, 13th Level Rogue/3rd Level Monk Investigator
Elven Male, 135 years old
Blond hair, Blue eyes
5’ 1”, 88 lbs

Hp: 77
AC: 17

Initiative modifier: 4
Base Attack: 11/6

Weapons: Kama, sai, dagger, unarmed attack proficiency
Armor: None

Feats:

(Monk)
Bonus Feats: Stunning Fist, Combat Reflexes
Class Features: Flurry of Blows, Unarmed Strike, Evasion, Fast Movement (40 feet), Still Mind

(Rogue)
Class Features: Sneak Attack (7d6) Trapfinding, Evasion, Trap Sense +4, Uncanny Dodge, Improved Uncanny Dodge
Special Abilities: Defensive Roll, Slippery Mind

(General)
Feats: Acrobatic, Agile, Alertness, Improved Unarmed Strike, Investigator

Languages: Common, Elven, Draconic, Gnoll, Gnome, Goblin, Orc, and Sylvan

Equipment: Black tunic, black breeches, a black cap, soft black boots, simple gold ring, kama, sai, wineskin with elven wine, bag of holding containing rations, 1 extra outfit, an extra dagger, 250 gp, three diamonds, and a tin whistle he plays badly.

Roleplaying Notes:
Appearance: Ilia is blond with blue eyes, and stands about 5’ tall. He is slender, agile, athletic, cat-like. His dress is usually in all black in the city. He is often mistaken for a thief.

Goal: He appears to be on some kind of law and order crusade, though he won’t talk about why he’s so bent on an almost paladin-like war on evil. He expects others to just follow along and trust that his intentions are good.

Personality Traits: Ilia is quiet and thoughtful. He will generally watch and listen for a while before speaking to anyone at any length, and it takes quite a long time before he will give the impression he trusts someone, let alone show them any kind of warmth or friendship.

Strengths: A keen mind. A strong moral compass. A good physique.

Weaknesses: Does not necessarily work and play well with others. He has a tendency to plow his way thorough people like a little blond tank. He expects strangers to just trust that his intentions are good, and get out of his way when he’s on a mission.

In other words, he expects to be trusted, but will not be returning the favor anytime soon. At least not as far as anyone could tell, anyway.

History: Ilia is mysterious. He doesn’t talk about his past. One gets the feeling something must have happened to the man, as he seems almost driven. But it is either too painful, or Ilia considers it his own business. He doesn’t talk much at all really. He’s more likely to stare at you like a cat than to engage you in conversation.

He’s a quiet little guy. He tends to sneak up on people without really trying to, and scare them because they didn’t know he was there. His cool aloof manner can be a bit spooky at times. One can usually be assured that his intentions are good, but just the same, the man hardly smiles. But then, even one of his smiles can give a person the chills.

(c) 2005 by Erica Woollums