[Though nothing like the sort of ‘work’ he occupies himself with back in Ivalice, Balthier deems this particular task ideal for a marksman such as himself. Given his excellent aim, it stands to reason that gathering the necessary information and reporting back will be quick and easy money, which is what brings him to his current post over one of the busier plazas in the business district, perched on the roof of a cafe with a bow in hand and the arrows to be tested tucked into a quiver nearby.

Given that it’s all in good fun, he hopes that anyone he manages to hit will take it reasonably well, though he’s prepared to quickly make an exit if need be. For now, he remains at the ready, watching for opportunities and likely marks to make their way through the plaza below.]

Ready, aim—

[Fire!

(Note: Balthier is testing out both the Courage Arrows and ChocoShot listed on the questboard, it’s up to you which your character gets hit with, if they get struck at all. Either way, he’ll follow up with them shortly!]

[With some vested interest in learning what information the Fae Queen has to share, following the compulsion to seek out the answer to the riddle that had been presented in dreams seems a natural step. Balthier has opted to join the group heading to the Forest of the Fisher King— both potential locations seem equally likely, but the product of one of his more recent alchemical efforts will do far more good here than in the Land of Rot.]

Here— it’s meant to make one resistant to magical effects or compulsion, at least for a short period of time.

[He proceeds to hand out small vials containing translucent blue liquid to any fellow expeditioner that may happen to be nearby, his mouth set into a thin line— there are countless dangers in the forest itself, but the airborne spores and whatever magic it is that tries to convince people to stay once they’ve entered are certainly the most insidious.]

There are masks among our supplies, as well— I’d highly recommend making use of them. They won’t do much for quicksand or pelicans, but maintaining control of your senses is a good start.

[Loss of that control seems to be what the forest wants most.]

[Though he has a number of complaints about the method of entry— going through quicksand has never been an item on his personal agenda— what awaits at the bottom more than makes up for it. It takes a few moments to collect himself, to catch his breath after being forced to hold it so long and to shake out his sleeves and shoes alike to try and rid himself of the sand and mud— he won't be anywhere near sated until he's had a bath, but in the meantime, he simply cannot help the way his gaze lights up when it comes to rest on the ornate door to the tomb ahead.]

Now that's more like it.

[Far better than memory-hindering spores and the beasts that roam the forest, though he has no doubt that there will be something equally nasty awaiting beyond those doors— there always is, in these sorts of places, but at least he's in his element.

He tugs at his cuffs, one after the other; the quicksand has made an absolute mess of his clothes, but there's little to be done about it now.]

Nothing like a spot of graverobbing. I'd wager we've found the resting place of our Fisher King. Shall we?

[Free space here; this log can also be used for closed threads or other scenarios if you have an interest in working one out together. Please feel free to contact me via PM or on plurk at necrofancy.]