Approach the man cloaked in velvet

"Be still my heart," says the man with the velvet cloak, rising from his seat with a bounce and pulling the chair out for you to sit. "Mercuria shines upon me today."

He invokes the name of the goddess of luck, the sometimes benevolent and sometimes cruel goddess who decides events and fates for those who will not decide their own.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Russ DeLarco, swordsman extraordinaire." He bows deeply. When he stand up again he snaps his fingers and produces a slip of white paper. You take it from him and see his name and a wood cut illustration of a swordsman with a feathered cap. Beneath his name, Russ DeLarco, is printed, "Never a duel lost, never a challenge refused."

He prances back to his seat and sits again.

"You look like a young lady in distress, and there are few things in this realm that better command my attention. So tell me your name, and then tell me what distresses you." He smooths his mustache to a point with his fingers. "I will tell you what I can do to be of assistance."

Russ is amusing, but his fast-talking demeanor does not put you at ease. You introduce yourself to him, but decide to conceal the depths of depravity you have suffered and only tell him that you are on a mission from the abbey at White Rock to the abbey at Gerlangen. You have no money, no clothes, and no provisions.

"But you have a fine sword!" he gestures to your hip. "Might I see the blade?"

"Um, well, I suppose." You reluctantly hand scabbard and sword to him.

He admires the decorative scabbard and embellished grip, but when he draws the blade he quickly closes it again. You see something in his eyes, some flicker of recognition. He returns the sword to you.

"What is it?" you demand.

"That is devil tempered," he whispers quietly enough that his words are private. "That blade has been in the bowels of a daemon. What sort of woman are you, Sabine St. Croix?"

He snaps his fingers.

"I know the sort! The sort I want to accompany to Gerlangen." He leaps back to his feet and offers you his hand. "Come upstairs to my quarters at this miserable place. I will find you something dry to wear and I'll be sure the stable tends to your horse. Then we will be off again. No time to waste, right my dear?"

"Yes, haste is important."

"Good!" declares Russ. "Then what are you waiting for?"

He waggles his hand, still offering it to you.