Jamal al-Shaeir aka: the Storyteller

Jamal placed himself contently on a bench beneath the archways and watched the street scene. He waited for Aziz, who had to run some errands within the temple of Sarenrae. He himself bowed to Shelyn, godess of Art, but he admired the devotion of the paladin.
A ratfolk woman in armor caught his eye. She looked as if she was searching for someone or something, but didn't find it. So she headed towards him. Now he noticed the small holy symbol on her armor. Another paladin or cleric, he thought. When she spoke to him he had to forcibly stifle a chuckle. That sibilants really were a phonetic adventure, having to pass that teeth.
"Hello Sir, do you happen to know where the smithy of Iro Blackhammer is?" Jamal shrugged his shoulders apologetically.
"I'm very sorry, reverend, but I'm not familiar with this city, either, since I arrived only two weeks ago", he said. "But perhaps we can find somebody who lives here." He looked around. There was a young woman lurking around at the side of the promenade. Her clothing suggested a dancer or a prostitute. He waved her to come over, and she obliged.
"Miss, would you perhaps know the directions to the smithy of Iro Blackhammer?", he asked. She shook her head.
"I know he is a dwarven smith, but I have never been there", she returned.
Jamal, being over 6', joked about "overlookable dwarves". The rat priestress chuckled. The young woman answered with a one-liner that would have less expierienced men than Jamal left blushing crimson red. The priestress giggled, Jamal laughed and crowned it with a very suggestive anecdote. He noticed some of the passersby had stopped and listened, so he slightly raised his voice. The ratfolk lady laughed readily, and he noticed a tiefling woman trying to hide her chuckle behind her hand.
When the other bard answered with a similar suggestive story, an elderly man stepped nearer, trying to listen. Jamal capped again with an anecdote he had literally lived to see a few years ago, and the man had to hold on his fez. The ratfolk priestress bend over and hit her thigh, laughing her tail off. Just as the story came to a conclusion, Aziz arrived, smiling at what he heard. Thanks to Shelyn, the paladin wasn't prude.
"... and as I gazed after Cemar in utter shock, watching how he paced down the alley while plucking that pitchfork from his butt, my... acquaintance turned to me and said: 'You should hurry, dear - if he reacts this way with our daughter, I don't want to see what he does if he finds you with ME!' Well, since I now knew there was a dungheap without any pitchforks under that window, I made my way out of there!"