Chapter Text
Balfas works hard to build contacts throughout the desert, which is a double edged sword just a bit too useful to ever stop sharpening. On the one hand, he’s well informed and knows enough people on either side of the fence to spin just about anything he needs, but it also means his name has spread farther than he ever wanted it to when his only goal in life was to survive.
Now, that’s a nice little bit of philosophy for ya, but is not what he’s thinkin’ about on his way back to the tavern fresh off a contract from The Blades that he’d told everyone else was a favor for an old friend. Not entirely a lie; except that it wasn’t a favor because he got paid and the lioness he met isn’t exactly a friend, nor was the person they killed and stole from, but that’s a technicality. Raloric has asked him to do it personally, so that was a favor at least. Not that it matters. Balfas isn’t gonna lose any sleep over it.
Walking through the staff entrance of the tavern, he’s fully intent on takin’ a nap before he gets back to the long long list of work that’s always waitin’ for him, except that as soon as he’s in line of sight, Malik nods him over to the bar.
“Welcome back. How was the visit with your friend?” Always friendly and professional, with his own caravan operation to keep in line, their orc majordomo is an excellent asset and Balfas favorite employee.
“Went well, yeah.” He shrugs the bag on his shoulder, “Got some supplies too. Any potion requests?”
Malik’s voice is baritone, and his laugh rumbles when he shakes his head. “Hangover tonic for the bar, like usual, and I’ll always take Midnight Oil if you’re offering.”
Balfas smiles easy. “I’ll see what I can do.” He looks around, and tries not to yearn for his bedroll too obviously. There’ll be time for that once he crosses all his Ts. “Anything else? Kids good?”
“They’ve been surprisingly well behaved, but-” Malik turns around and squats to reach the lower shelves where they keep recipes and paperwork, and Balfas is always amused that such a big guy never bumps anything he doesn’t intend to. Makes him wonder sometimes if he and Malik don’t have some similar skillsets they don’t advertise, but he keeps it off his face. Secrets are secret for a reason, after all. Malik rises back up to his giant height and holds out a letter. “Mail came for you; some gnoll messenger dropped it off.”
“Hmm.” He takes it, reading over the front.
His full name scrawled in neat Gnoll. Irritating.
And if they were content enough to leave it at his bar, they know he lives here. Really irritating.
He chews on the inside of his cheek, then sucks in an exasperated breath. “Alright. Thanks, man. Lemme go see what this shit is about.” He pats the bar as he goes, and Malik wishes him luck on his way up the stairs.
He doesn’t end up taking that nap after all. Or working on any potions, because he can’t focus after reading the letter.
It’s from the Rothallow clan that his idiot parents had tried promising him to. He’d intercepted the letter by dumb luck while they were out running down some other quest almost a year ago, and had written to them in his own stead trying to ruin whatever the Woebeast cackle had in the works… When he wrote it, he was just pulling threads and trying to unravel plans, too deep in chasing down a lich and keeping their business above water (and frankly, too pissed off) to be too concerned with diplomatic relations.
Hell, he’d hoped they would just take the letter on face value and write him, and the Woebeasts, off altogether.
But. Well. They got his letter, and now they’re asking to meet him, with the clear implication that they’re willing to force it to happen if he refuses because they’re traveling through the area in the next two weeks.
And what’s he s’pposed to do about it? Jus’ let ‘em show up on their own time at his door? Risk the business’ carefully maintained good name if they decide to make a fuss in town? Just let himself be associated with them because they’ll no doubt run around lookin’ for him as soon as they arrive?
Balfas growls out loud, “I don’t fuckin’ think so.” And stalks unhappily around the room again, stepping over his kids trinkets and toys and weapons.
It’s a stupid fuckin’ political puzzle that he doesn’t have even the faintest interest in putting together, but what choice does he have? It’s a show a’ force, and he’s a rogue gnoll trying to weasel out of a marriage and ruin the standing of what would be an advantageous alliance between clans. His options are limited. And complicated.
He’s gonna have to plan carefully.