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((An open RP thread about a merchant looking for someone very special))

In the late hours of the evening at the Hemp Necktie, Bernie finishes delivering supplies to his depot there. He wanders to Borgate and orders a pint, sits down in the nearly deserted Inn and sips at it thinking of a meeting he had earlier that day.

"How shall I find her?" he mumbled to himself. As he sips, he looks about the Inn. Usually the unwanted, outcast and even criminal elements of the Isle gather here.

"Perhaps this is a good place to start?" he mumbles.

He glances about and spies a husky looking Human, girding leather armor, empty manacles hanging from his belt and a face adorned with scars staring into his own drink of choice. Bernie arises with his drink and wanders to Borgate to inquire about this man, slipping a gold coin to him for his trouble. Borgate whispers something to Bernie and his face lights up. Bernie orders another drink from Borgate to deliver to the man. As Borgate does so, Bernie walks over and introduces himself, "Hello friend! I am Bernie and have need of your special services!"

The Man, seemingly unimpressed, grunts and mumbles, "Go away!"

Bernie tosses a pouch which clincks on the table by the man, suddenly changing his demeanor. "What can I do you for?" the man grumbles.

Bernie sits next to him and whispers quietly, "I hear you are good at finding people?"

"Yeah, it's my job. What's it to you?" the man says as he palms the small pouch.

"I have need to find someone. Someone like this," says Bernie as he slips a small note to the Bounty Hunter.

The man grunts, "Well, it'll cost ye. Business isn't so good lately and illegal in some places." who hands the note back.

Bernie holds a pouch, "I know and respect that. Price is no object. I'd like you to find her please."

The man grunts, simply nods and rises to leave, leaving Bernie at the table alone unsure if the job was accepted or not.

Bernie looks about at the few patrons there mumbling, "Maybe there's another I could approach to get the job done?"

Malchus, an eyepatched hulk clad in dark armour, walks into the Hemp Necktie Inn, making his way to the bar counter.
"Oi Borgate, gimme a mug o' yer finest mead, will ya," he orders and slaps some silver coins on the grimy counter.
While the dwarven tavernkeep fetches his drink, Malchus's eye wanders over the room and its patrons, spotting a familiar halfling who, easily hidden behind other visitors and even tables taller than him, had escaped Malchus's attention up until now.

"Heh, didn't expect to meet ya 'ere. How'dya do, Bernie," Malchus greets and walks over to the halfling's table with his mug of mead in hand.
"Whatcha got 'ere," he pries as he sees the note on the table. "Don't tell me it's 'nother letter from... ya know who," Malchus adds more quietly and takes a hearty gulp from his mug.

Looking up at the approach of Malchus, Bernie smiles, "Oh! Fancy meeting you here!"

Looks down at the note saying, "Oh no..." blushing slightly, "It's not from him. It's just someone I'm looking for, a girl."

Bernie nervously spills a little of his drink as he tucks the note away in a pocket.

He continues, "I know I may seem a little old for such a thing, but I recently have been thinking of finding a certain someone," nudging and winking at you, " who could run errands, keep me company or even keep my bed warm. Preferably someone who needs my money, not my good looks." Bernie chuckles.

Bernie admits, "It's been a long time since I tried this sort of thing, do you have any advice?"

Bernie pauses to hear your opinion on the matter.

Malchus answers Bernie's wish with a broad smirk and dirty laugh.

"Keh heh heh, a girl who can run errands an' keep ya company, eh? Sounds like yer in need o' a slave. I was once in that business, ya know? Good times. Maybe you'd fancy a lithe 'n' lissom elfess — they're very popular with the upper crust in Albar an' Gynk. Or maybe an Albarian peasant girl who's already accustomed to servitude."

The ex-slaver scratches his stubbled chin as he ponders the best options for his employer, as if he were one of his past clients, before breathing a disappointed sigh.

"Bet we'd've had plenty o' good choices at Cadomyr's royal slave market, but that place's now nuffin' more than a deserted ruin. The slave trade on this gods-forsaken peninsula really ran dry ever since those Cadomyrian sandbrains outlawed it in their kingdom an' shut that place down. Just what were they thinkin' ?!"

After a moment of disgruntled grumbling, Malchus lays his hands down in resignation.

"Maybe ya should just put up a note that yer hirin' a maid or sumthin' like that."