A Drink for the Parched
19th of Kuthona 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)
Though the Surefoots are reasonably understanding about the need to return to Cheliax for Gorok's people, they are also worried about losing one of their most valued oaths for the expedition, just as they are attempting to find human sellswords to take and hold ground with their part of the haul. Though he need not do it, indeed the dwarves are surprised to even seen him around, Leontas offers to spread the word among the sellswords of the city of the great fortune he gained 'in the service of Clan Surefoot'. That is not entirely true, but 'mutually agreed upon backstabbing of our last patron' tends to put people off.
The former crusader explains that he and his soldiers agreed to take vows to the Lord Governor and hence to the crown of Taldor in exchange for sinking a portion of their earnings into the Cassomir hinterlands. The land there is rich, but never so much for the tastes of certain noble houses who seek to eclipse the capital and manage only to immolate their own fortunes. There is thus no lack of ancient manor houses of renown left to rot quietly among the hills as the peasants see to their own affairs and the creditors squabble.
Sir Pisca toasts and speaks with all honor of his new comrade-in-arms that evening, though one cannot help but wonder if that has more to do with the fullness of his pouch than any great love shared between the Mendevian Crusader of uncertain heritage and the scion of Taldor's ancient and storied aristocracy. Surely he can't have spent all the money he took off the drow yet, though maybe he's grown more forethoughtful in his company of late.
That company, Mina, reminds you that evening over bitter dwarvish brews and the din of many cheers and stories told, honest and not, includes a
drow.
"He seems to be doing alright by himself..." you motion towards the figure of Saenar, his glasses and robes just as you had found them, though the palor of his skin and the vivid green of his eyes speaks of the elves of the sun. The alchemist presents as a bookish scholar of the Forlorn, elves raised among shorter lived peoples, who has only now overcome the death of his adopted kin to mingle with the world again. The refusal to speak of painful memories covers many of the gaps in his knowledge, and the kind of hesitant good cheer he puts on does the rest.
It's not that he
challenged three dwarves to a drinking competition across the common room, it's that he allowed them to do so and is now steadily drinking them under the table while making entertaining faces for the onlookers.
"Do you think we should tell Ungor, after all this I mean?" Mina asks worriedly.
"The only way he'll ever be safe is if he never drops that glamor until he can make something of flesh and blood. You think a dwarf's going to keep that secret?"
"He'd want to know though..."
"So would most of the tavern, if they even know what a drow is. We either trust him or we don't, and we choose the first when we took the knife from his throat."
"I'm just surprised the governor just let him go, he seemed a stickler for the the law. I thought he'd keep him in the dungeon or something..." she trails off.
For how long? you almost ask, the entire concept of imprisonment for a set span of time still seeming backwards to you. Once they are out all they will have learned is to hate their jailer as much as fear them. Should hate prove the stronger it's just more trouble along the way. A cold wind rattled against the shutters as the fire suddenly burned low, like a beast made weary as the door slides open... to reveal nothing more ominous than a trio of dwarves with a nose for a good time and a gait that shows that this isn't the first tavern they've visited tonight.
Your thoughts return to what you might do with the pirates' ship and the engine. Given the troubles among Cassomir's mercantile forces no one had come forward to buy one 'somewhat used pirate ship,' but the governor is willing to pay twelve thousand gold pieces for it at least. He, like most everyone who the notion had been presented, wants nothing to do with the engine, though that's not to say there had been
no interest.
"
Saenar wants to buy the soul-engine?" You briefly wonder who had told the drow about it before Sirim gives a wordless clink against your mind, the nearest thing to clearing his throat he can manage.
What do you do about the ship?
[] Keep it as your part of the loot and pay the others their share (- 8,000 gp)
[] Sell it (+4.000 gp)
What do you do about the engine?
[] Keep it
[] Sell it (+5.000 gp & 1 Favor with Saenar)
All PCs gain 5,962 XP
OOC: Well, the election over here has been going not entirely shit so far at least from what can be heard online, fingers crossed. Also, finally did your XP calculations, and this is also your chance to speak to Pisca and Leontas before you go to see the princess enter the city.
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