When Kirk had been assigned to permanent watch duty at the city gate, out of deference to his advancing years, Duke voluntarily put in for a transfer to this most boring of assignments just to keep his little buddy company. He never revealed to his friend that he, unlike Kirk, had chosen to join him on this assignment that was labeled by the young-bloods as the geriatric guard.

"Cheer up," Duke encouraged, punching Kirk in the shoulder plate. "I understand that there has been some trouble of late with battling brigands, and pickpockets masquerading as thespians. Maybe we'll get lucky and bag a few."

"Yeah," agreed Kirk, gaze now fixed on some invisible point on the horizon, then adding, "that's all we're good for, baby-sitting holy men and pinching pickpockets. Not what I'd call soldier's work. Purple Dragons, bah! Purple newts is more like it. Why don't we just retire?"

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself. Looks like we have company. Go give him the once-over."

Kirk took up his poleax, straightened his age-bent, five-two frame, and approached the oncoming traveler.

"Stop in the name of King Azoun," he bellowed, happy that at least his bass was in good form. "Who goes there?"

The lone traveler approached the gate, seemingly unthreatened by the harsh tones of the veteran of the watch.

"It is only I, Passepout the entertainer, star of stage, tavern, and festhall, and only son of the legendary thespians Catinflas and Idle. I've come to Suzail to share my talents with your most appreciative citizenry, and rumor has it that their generosity is legendary, if you know what I mean," rambled the traveler, jabbing Kirk in the ribs with his elbow with all of the self-assurance of Elminster at a magic show. The traveler's manner more than obscured his humble ensemble of threadbare pantaloons, homespun blouse thin and shiny to the point of silken, and a moth-eaten cloak that had as many worn spots as it had pockets (of which it had many).