Chapter 7: Unconscious Revelations

[Darren]

Aug 26, 2010 9:55:11 GMT -4 Jeff said:

At this, the young man looks up and watches Kal with a strange intensity. There's a sheen of sweat on the man's brow, which gives Kal pause. The old woman's face, however, twists into something like hatred as she looks up at him. There's something wrong here. Tangat, beside Kal, senses his master's discomfort and issues a low growl.

"Yes," the young man says, "It's...it's about building skills. That's what I'm trying to make her understand." Kal senses that these words are forced.

The Blademark sergeant at the desk nearby, as if also catching wind. The warforged steps around and approaches. "What is wrong, citizens?" it says.

"Hm," says Kal, rubbing a hand on his chin. "I was beginning to wonder the same thing." He studies the young man. "What is wrong, son? I don't need to be an Inquisitive to know this situation isn't right. Is this woman actually your mother?" Kal leans forward a bit, his tone growing very serious. "Be straight with me, now. I have a lot of influence in this House, and if I say so, there's no way you'll be entering the Guild."

______________
If you feel a Bluff or Intimidate check is necessary, let me know.

[Ken]

"Yes, otyugh repellent," says Belarin quickly, and with as much of his considerable charm as he can summon, "on behalf of the smelly kobold bards that have pestered my halfling friend. They promised to write a song about him, but their stage is adjacent to an otyugh's refuse pit. Hence the need for repellent. Otherwise, no kobold ballads. Can you help?"

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

The gnome's face takes on an amused expression at Streko's words. "Troubled by loquacious pests and otyughs, are you?" Then she listens to Belarin's request. "Some tales you must have," she says, touching a finger to her chin, thinking.

"I can help," she says with a wink, then lowers her voice. "For both of you, then? And how many papers are you looking at?"

[Ken]

"I'm delighted you can help," says Belarin, matching her low tones, "and yes, I do have stories to share -- preferably over drinks once we're done here.

"As for papers, I'm thinking two -- both for me. My companion is here as my friend and spiritual advisor - no, really, you ARE - not necessarily as customer. But if he were interested...?" He looks at Streko, leaving the question dangling.

[Mike]

Syrdan drops to one knee in deference to the wizened elf. "Greetings to you, Mayne Jhaelian," says Syrdan. "Allow me to introduce a friend and companion of mine - Adamant, a holy warrior."

He looks up at Mayne Jhaelian with a serious look up his face. "As you bid, I followed the rumors of the apparition into the North Market ... the rumors proved to indeed be reality." He glances over at Adamant. "It was there where I met Adamant and other companions of his, also warriors. We pursued the strange creature into the sewers, where we found many unpleasant things."

Syrdan recounts the group's adventures in the sewers.

"I am not sure we truly vanquished the apparation, which was the point of going there in the first place," Syrdan concludes. "So I fear that saying my work is finished may be a lie at this point. If anything, I feel a hornet's nest may have been stirred."

"But please know I intend to investigate further. If there is more I can do, I will."

He cocks his head curiously at Mayne Jhaelian. "Is there other news in the city I should know about? Or other matters you wish for me to attend to?"

[Dave W.]

Adamant starts to reply to the ancient elf's comment about hives, "Ah, like honeycomb..." when he notices Syrdan drop to one knee. "Oh, umm, yes," the warforged says softly as he eases uncertainly to one knee.

When Syrdan calls him a "holy warrior", Adamant interjects softly, "in truth, I am a simple Servant."
 
Adamant will wait quietly and respectfully after that.

[Brian]

"Do you have any questions for me in advance?" Lord Gardan asks him.

Condign bows slightly to the dwarf. "I do not have any questions, for I do not exactly understand what I am doing here. If you would please lead the way, I would be glad to finally learn the meaning of this scroll."

After speaking to Lord Gardan, Condign casts a surreptitious glance at the other tiefling.

[Joe]

Aug 27, 2010 9:48:03 GMT -4 Ken said:

"I'm delighted you can help," says Belarin, matching her low tones, "and yes, I do have stories to share -- preferably over drinks once we're done here.

"As for papers, I'm thinking two -- both for me. My companion is here as my friend and spiritual advisor - no, really, you ARE - not necessarily as customer. But if he were interested...?" He looks at Streko, leaving the question dangling.

Streko continues to look around at the various items. At first, he doesn't hear the question, but that nagging feeling that he's forgetting something reminds him that there are, indeed, others about.

"Papers? Oh! No, thank you, my friend. Olladra gets me where I need to go...and out of where I don't want to be, including Otyugh lairs. With the help of friends, of course." He smiles warmly at Belarin, and then returns to looking about, seeing if anything catches his eye.

[Jeff]

Condign

The other tiefling is still sitting with a Sivis gnome at the desk when Condign looks furtively toward him. When Condign turns back to Lord Garden, the Kundarak banker, he thinks on the edge of his peripheral vision thatt the other tiefling might just be looking back at him.

The dwarf clears his throat, drawing Condign's full attention back. "It is not our business to ask how you came by this note, only to see it carried through. Please, come with me." He steps around the desk, younger dwarf and gnome in tow, and leads the way out of this central hall and into a narrower corridor.

As they start further into the compound, with Condign following in the back of the line, the gnome looks over his shoulder up at him. "You really don't know who sent this to you?" he asks quietly so that Lord Gardan doesn't hear.

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

Belarin:

"As for papers, I'm thinking two -- both for me. My companion is here as my friend and spiritual advisor - no, really, you ARE - not necessarily as customer. But if he were interested...?" He looks at Streko, leaving the question dangling.

Streko:

"Papers? Oh! No, thank you, my friend. Olladra gets me where I need to go...and out of where I don't want to be, including Otyugh lairs. With the help of friends, of course." He smiles warmly at Belarin, and then returns to looking about, seeing if anything catches his eye.

The gnome nods. She extends a hand up to Belarin. "My name's Vundry." She quiets her tone. "I wouldn't mind knowing who recommended you here. And to be clear, I'm not the one who'll put together any papers. That'll be someone else. But I'll process it for you...and collect. Prices have risen lately. Used to be, ten galifars would get you what you need. Since you want two, we're talking fifty. Are we doing business, then?"

[Jeff]

Kal and Tangat

"What is wrong, son? I don't need to be an Inquisitive to know this situation isn't right. Is this woman actually your mother?" Kal leans forward a bit, his tone growing very serious. "Be straight with me, now. I have a lot of influence in this House, and if I say so, there's no way you'll be entering the Guild."

The old woman seems to hiss at this. Looking into her hood, Kal can see she's not quite well...

"No, not like this—" the young man says. "Not now." Then the old woman jerks away from both Kal and him and she throws off her hood.

Standing only a few paces away from both Kal and the middle of the hall, the crone's face is twisted in hatred—at what Kal can't tell. Then he sees a black design painted on her mostly bald scalp.

It almost looks like a dragonmark....

Except it's clearly not, not one like he's seen before. It's black like fresh ink, staining the skin around it grey, and there's a jaggedness to its shape that gives Kal and uneasy feeling.

"HOUSE OF SENTINEL!" the woman cries out in a shrill and painfully hoarse voice, hushing the murmur of the other people doing business around the room. They look her way. "You will be the first to pay for the crimes of your fathers!"

Deneith guards spring into motion, running toward her. Gasps and quiet cries sound from the scattered crowd, who sense that something's about to happen.

The old woman's jagged mark seems to darken and starts spewing gray mist.

The young man runs toward her. "No, mother, not like this—!"

Time seems to slow down to Kal. Tangat barks. The guards are closing in, but they seem an eternity away. Kal is the closest agent of Deneith to the old woman, just a few paces; even the warforged Blademark is behind him.

_____________________________

Darren, no, no map for this. Just use your best judgement. Picture a marble post office with a few people in line but still lots of open space.

[Jeff]

Adamant and Syrdan

"A warrior of Dol Arrah," Mayne says, nodding at Adamant. His tone is respectful, but Syrdan can see the subtle expression of sympathy in the elf's eyes: to most followers of the Undying Court, religions like the Sovereign Host and the Silver Flame are foolish mental constructs, flawed attempts to understand the divine. What Mayne himself thinks, he can't quite tell. "You are welcome here, to think and to learn. To listen, if not to impart." Adamant understands this much: a temple of the Undying Court is not a place to preach the ways of his god.

Syrdan recounts the group's adventures in the sewers.

Mayne smiles softly. "From what you describe, young Syrdan, it was a pale reaver that you encountered...but none have troubled that necropolis in a very long time. I suspect it was created elsewhere and brought to the City of the Dead and the North Market, perhaps to stir up fear. Perhaps to bait such as you and your companions." He nods at Adamant, then looks back to Syrdan. "I believe the spirit is vanquished. But the necromancer behind this arrangement has not been. Keep your eyes and ears open. You have done well thus far."

The old priest pauses. "The woman you spoke of, the spirit...the Lady of Sorrow, I have heard of her. There are no surviving records that names her family or the cause of her unrest. Nevertheless, she is an enduring legend to the humans of this city and a sometime friend to the caretakers of the necropolis. That you released her I commend. Such spirits would be better at rest, but at times even ghosts outside my purview confound me."

"Is there other news in the city I should know about? Or other matters you wish for me to attend to?"

"Yes. Come with me."

Mayne Jhaelian leads Syrdan and Adamant further into the temple, even beyond the honeycombed sanctuaries. The warforged's footfalls continue to dominate all sound, drawing looks of curiosity among a few other visitors. Mayne chuckles softly. "My hearing isn't what it used to be," he says, "but I know when a child of Cannith is afoot."

[Ken]

Aug 31, 2010 7:49:09 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"Prices have risen lately. Used to be, ten galifars would get you what you need. Since you want two, we're talking fifty. Are we doing business, then?"

Belarin smiles. "Yes, Vundry, thank you. I am a nostalgic at heart, though. I like the old prices. But I can be accommodating. Forty galifars. If the quaility surpasses my expectations, the payment will surpass that amount."

Once Vundry turns to lead them elsewhere, Belarin whispers to Streko, "This is embarrassing, but ... I may need a loan, my friend, at least until I can withdraw funds from the bank. This is pricier than I had expected."

________________________________
I recall our discussion months ago about Cash on Hand. I think Belarin has 25 gp in coin on him. Jeff, please correct me if I'm wrong or whether we can "retcon" and say that Belarin took a little more out in anticipation of a shopping trip. I'm OK if 25 gp is indeed the total. Belarin will cope.

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

"It's adorable that you wish to haggle," Vundry says with a smile.

"This is embarrassing, but ... I may need a loan, my friend, at least until I can withdraw funds from the bank. This is pricier than I had expected."

You can hear a smile in the gnome's voice after Belarin's whisper to Streko. "I have excellent hearing. Serves me well. A small down payment will suffice. The full fifty—no more, no less—you can bring with you when you retrieve the final work."

She leads Belarin over to a door that clearly goes to a back room. She turns and gestures at her wares across the shop. "Please, feel free to look around," she says pointedly to Streko, which he understands to mean that he should remain out here; only Belarin is permitted beyond to do business. "Erekk will keep an eye on things." She seems to indicate the lyre-playing, beaked, and hooded figure in the corner.

Streko finds a lot of things that catch his eye: Talentan pottery and carpets, even small religious trinkets. But at last his eye is drawn to a small figurine of a griffon, carved in jade and sitting on a shelf at eye level.

He also notices that the lyre music starts to shift from a sad dirge-like tune to one familiar to Streko. It's a cheerful melody often used for Olladran hymns, specifically developed by halflings. Erekk, the mysterious figure in the corner, seems diverse in his musical lore.

Meanwhile, Belarin follows Vundry to a backroom stuffed to bursting with more merchandise. But there is a desk here remarkably clear of baubles. She starts to sort through one of the desk drawers, she says without looking up, "Someone actually tried to jump me in here, if you can believe it. I guess the would-be client thought I would be an easy victim, small and weak. And with no obvious exit, and tight quarters around us, I suppose he thought he'd be in control. To rob me or worse." She looks up with her gleaming black eyes and fixes Belarin with a gaze of mild warning. Her tone is light, like she's just sharing anecdote, but he understands her. "This was a couple years back.And you know, he never made it out of her. He's still here."

Belarin's imagination, already vast, finds itself wondering if the "he" in question now exists in some dust-like form, or if his bones are tucked away in the many boxes and shelves that adorn the walls of this cramped space. Of if he's a ghost. Or perhaps he's just a figment of her tale.

"So..." Vundry places a clean piece of paper on the desk and produces a pen. "Give me some details. Two identities. Tell me what you want. Be specific. I'll advise you that the more plausible they are, the more likely they'll pass any inspection." She grins. "So don't go making yourself a Duke of Breland or somesuch. Unless you are. But something tells me you've done this before, you know how this goes."

_____________________________

Ken: when we jump forward and do downtime, that's when I'd rather have the bank accessed freely. But there'll be exceptions to that, for simplicity's sake. For the time being, let's stick to just what you have on you.

By the way, lyres sound like this. Minus the dorky guy.

[Brian]

Nosey Gnome:

"You really don't know who sent this to you?" he asks quietly so that Lord Gardan doesn't hear.

Condign gives the gnome a hard stare. "No, I really do not know who sent the scroll. However, I do know who gave it to me. An Inquisitive of some renown. Shall I tell her of your interest?"

[Dave W.]

Aug 31, 2010 9:08:08 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"A warrior of Dol Arrah," Mayne says, nodding at Adamant.  His tone is respectful, but [Syrdan stuff] "You are welcome here, to think and to learn. To listen, if not to impart."  Adamant understands this much: a temple of the Undying Court is not a place to preach the ways of his god.

"Thank you, you are very kind to allow this intrusion. I would very much like to learn... And to listen, especially if there is to be music.. I have a fondness for music; it is a vanity. Perhaps a flaw in my design or a quirk of the forge."

The warforged's footfalls continue to dominate all sound, drawing looks of curiosity among a few other visitors. Mayne chuckles softly. "My hearing isn't what it used to be," he says, "but I know when a child of Cannith is afoot."

"I do apologize, Revered Jhaelian, i do not mean to disturb. I'm afraid lack of graceful movement is another design flaw." Adamant says lightly. 

[Darren]

Aug 31, 2010 8:14:33 GMT -4 Jeff said:

Deneith guards spring into motion, running toward her. Gasps and quiet cries sound from the scattered crowd, who sense that something's about to happen.

The old woman's jagged mark seems to darken and starts spewing gray mist.

The young man runs toward her. "No, mother, not like this—!"

Time seems to slow down to Kal. Tangat barks. The guards are closing in, but they seem an eternity away. Kal is the closest agent of Deneith to the old woman, just a few paces; even the warforged Blademark is behind him.

"Dammit," Kal mutters. "Everywhere I go...." Realizing he has little time to act and that there are a large number of innocents around, Kal drops his sharrash and springs at the old woman, hoping to knock her to the ground and disrupt whatever it she is doing.

______________
Kal is diving at the woman in an attempt to knock her over and pin her. I'm assuming that requires a Grapple roll, but I don't know what the modifiers should be...

EDIT:
Strength vs. Reflex (1d20+4=16)

Jeff, I assumed the +4 from a standard melee attack applied here (Strength modifier + 1/2 level). If not, then the roll was a 12.

[Jeff]

GRAB: STANDARD ACTION
Strength Attack: Make a Strength attack vs. Reflex. Do not add any weapon modifiers. You must have at least one hand free to make a grab attempt.
Hit: The enemy is immobilized until it escapes or you end the grab. Your enemy can attempt to escape on its turn.

So just give me a Strength attack, Darren.

[Joe]

Streko finds a lot of things that catch his eye: Talentan pottery and carpets, even small religious trinkets. But at last his eye is drawn to a small figurine of a griffon, carved in jade and sitting on a shelf at eye level.

He also notices that the lyre music starts to shift from a sad dirge-like tune to one familiar to Streko. It's a cheerful melody often used for Olladran hymns, specifically developed by halflings. Erekk, the mysterious figure in the corner, seems diverse in his musical lore.

Streko's breath catches. Images flash in his mind of a dream, the dream from the fey. "Olladra bless me," he whispers, grabbing hold of the figurine gently and bringing it closer to his face. He notices the details, the colors, the eyes. He can almost feel the wind buffet him as he is soaring high above the city on the back of the majestic creature.

The Olladran hymns catch his ear and he briefly imagines the figurine coming to life, springing from his grasp and circling the shop. Part of him almost wants to let it go, to fling it into the air andwatch it fly. Another part sees him doing just that, and watching in horror as the figurein drops to the floor and shatters.

He holds onto it a bit tighter, allowing it's sharp edges to bite into his flesh. The music continues its friendly banter and Streko realizes quite suddenly that he hasn't taken a breath in well over twenty seconds.

He inhales and takes the figurine with him over to the player. Streko is suddenly very curious as to who or what this unique individual might be.

[Ken]

After Vundry describes the tale of her unfortunate attacker, Belarin says, "Well, clearly, the fool deserved what he got. I can think of far better things to do in shadowy, confined places."

Aug 31, 2010 9:53:39 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"So..." Vundry places a clean piece of paper on the desk and produces a pen. "Give me some details. Two identities. Tell me what you want. Be specific. I'll advise you that the more plausible they are, the more likely they'll pass any inspection." She grins. "So don't go making yourself a Duke of Breland or somesuch. Unless you are. But something tells me you've done this before, you know how this goes."

"The first," Belarin says, "is a dealer and collector of rare religious texts. A person with wealth and influence and a very high opinion of himself. His place of birth and his base of operations is in Fairhaven, the University of Wynarn to be precise. Name, name... Macklin Thiel. That's 'eye - eee' in the middle, not two e's. He has a sister... Charis.

"The second is admittedly a little trickier, but not beyond reason. He is an arcane consultant - a 'freelancer,' I believe is the term - often hired by House Tharashk to help them analyze clues of a magical nature. He was born in the Brelish military installation of Orcbone, to the west. His parents were both Brelish soldiers, killed during the War. As for distinguishing characteristics, let's give him a limp. Right leg. I like doing limps. Name -- Antonin Jariff.

"Will that suffice for now? You don't happen to have any wine around here..."

[Mike]

Aug 31, 2010 9:08:08 GMT -4 Jeff said:

He nods at Adamant, then looks back to Syrdan. "I believe the spirit is vanquished. But the necromancer behind this arrangement has not been. Keep your eyes and ears open. You have done well thus far."

"Do not worry," Syrdan says. "I'll find this necromancer. And deal with him, when the time comes."

Aug 31, 2010 9:08:08 GMT -4 Jeff said:

Mayne chuckles softly. "My hearing isn't what it used to be," he says, "but I know when a child of Cannith is afoot."

"I've come to think of it as prayer," Syrdan says. A thin smile crosses his face. "I believe Adamant just wants to let the ground know that he appreciates it being beneath his feet."

Syrdan follows closely behind the venerable elf, looking about as they head deeper into the temple.

"How long has this temple been in Sharn?" he asks. "It must be only a short while, perhaps only a few hundred years?"

[Jeff]

Condign

"No, I really do not know who sent the scroll. However, I do know who gave it to me. An Inquisitive of some renown. Shall I tell her of your interest?"

The gnome inclines his head, smiles, and says, "Another time, perhaps."

Condign is led on through a wide, windowless hall, finely crafted by dwarven hands. Sconces of everburning torches are placed evenly throughout, and doors line both sides of the long corridor. The few that are open look like clones of one another: Each one contains a iron drawers fixed into the wall, each drawer its own little vault. Symbols Condign doesn't recognize mark each one. Dwarven runes, perhaps? At the center of each room's table is an empty desk and a few chairs neatly tucked into place.

Finally, Lord Gardan, his young assistant, and the gnome lead Condign into one such room. The walls are filled with rune-marked vaults.

"Please, have a seat." When the others have seated themselves, and Condign, the dragonmarked dwarf holds out the bank note and says:

"The contents placed within this vault"—he points to one one of the iron drawers two rows up from the bottom of the wall—"were done so under special clauses of secrecy quite some time ago: 252 years ago, in fact. Many, many years before the Last War, as you can see. In recent years, we have done away with such...eccentric options. One cannot be too careful these days. Times being what they are. Nevertheless—"

"There've been stories," the gnome interrupts with a wink. "Of such notes being sent to enemies anonymously. When the vault was opened, acid would spurt out, or some monstrous slime would flow—"

"Balderdash!" Lord Gardan fumes down at the gnome, but he seems constrained by house politics from outright punching him out. "Nevertheless," he continues, looking to Condign. "House Kundarak honors all past agreements to the letter. But in short, we do not know what remains within this vault. Therefore before we open it and sign its contents over to you, we require your signature here." He holds up a scroll filled with complicated legal text. "This relieves House Kundarak of any responsibility concerning the nature and effects of whatever is contained therein, that you did knowingly accept." He places down a second scroll. "And this one indicates that were explained."

The gnome smiles up at Condign. "We're sticklers for paperwork."

"If you will sign these," Lord Gardan says, "We will conclude." He pauses. "Are you able to write your name?" Condign doesn't think there's condescension in his tone, merely courtesy. He knows that the barbarians of Fah'lrrg would most certainly not be able to read and write, and that this dwarf, having looked at his identification papers, knows that Condign is from the Demon Wastes.

A pen is placed before Condign.

[Jeff]

Belarin and Streko

"Got it," Vundry says, writing Belarin's notes down in shorthand swiftly. "Wine? Hmmm. A glass or a bottle?"

In the main room, Streko starts toward the lyre-playing stranger. The front door of the shop, already ajar, creaks opens further, drawing Streko's attention back that way for a moment.

A balding, portly man with a workman's clothes strolls in, wiping his brow. He looks like one of the Bazaar's many porters, perhaps on a break. He looks over at Streko and gives a short wave and a friendly smile. "Hello there," he says. "Anything good in here?"

The lyre music stops. The beaked and cloaked figure stands up.

[Jeff]

Adamant and Syrdan

"I do not mind your sounds, Adamant," Mayne answers softly as he continues to lead slowly further into the temple. "It can be dreadfully quiet here at times. And I like to remind visitors that all are welcome here who would pay respects to the elders of our race." He pauses. "And...there is singing, at times. But not every day. The songs of the fallen are usually solemn, and not something we visit every day."

"How long has this temple been in Sharn?" he asks. "It must be only a short while, perhaps only a few hundred years?"

"For some time, yes. Shae Lias was founded only a few generations ago, but the Gates of Passage were only in construction little more than four hundred years past. That was before my time."

Mayne leads you into a candle-lit, round chamber where a handful of elaborate, over-sized reliquaries rest upon a dais that serves as a perimeter. Each resembles a large chest of densewood, gilded with bronze and gold and ornamented with sacred runes of the Undying Court. Death masks hang on the walls above the reliquaries.

Mayne moves over to one of them, reaches out, unlatches it, and opens it. You can't see what lies within just yet. The high priest turns and looks at Syrdan. "How often do you wear your mask, young Syrdan? And in what circumstances?"

[Mike]

Sept 1, 2010 10:21:30 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"How often do you wear your mask, young Syrdan? And in what circumstances?"

Syrdan looks down at the wooden mask hanging from his belt. He touches the deathlike visage carved on the mask lightly with his fingers, tapping on the varnished wood.

"Oftentimes, I wear it when I meditate," Syrdan replies. "I find it to be of use when contemplating thoughts of the past, or the future, and I need to clear my mind." He pauses for a moment. "But mostly, I wear the mask in battle. I like my foes to know that Death awaits them, particularly the unclean creatures we call the undead."

[Ken]

Sept 1, 2010 10:07:09 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"Got it," Vundry says, writing Belarin's notes down in shorthand swiftly. "Wine? Hmmm. A glass or a bottle?"

"A bottle, since you're drinking, too, yes?" says Belarin. "I'm a firm believer that this sort of business transaction should always end on a pleasant note."

[Brian]

Condign picks up the pen and pulls the scrolls before him. He goes to sign them, hesitates, and then scratches his name along the bottom of both.

As he returns them to the dwarf, an unsettling question pops into the tiefling's head. "My lord Gardan," he says, trying to sound casual, "I can assume that I am named specifically as the person to receive the contents of the vault, correct?"

[Jeff]

Belarin

"Certainly," Vundry replies, uncovering a green bottle from beneath the desk and handing it to him. "As long as you're paying."

Condign

The dwarf examines the note again, then consults a separate paper of his own. "Yes. Condign. Unless you have some doubt...?"

[Brian]

The dwarf examines the note again, then consults a separate paper of his own. "Yes. Condign. Unless you have some doubt...?"

"No, my lord, no doubt. Just curious." Condign tries to smile disarmingly, which is next to impossible for a tiefling.

[Ken]

Sept 1, 2010 11:25:38 GMT -4 Jeff said:

"Certainly," Vundry replies, uncovering a green bottle from beneath the desk and handing it to him. "As long as you're paying."

Belarin chuckles. "I like you. You remind me of me. Yes, add the cost of the bottle to the rest." He picks up the bottle, raises it toward Vundry, and says, "To your health!" He takes a decent swig, licks his lips in satisfaction, and hands the bottle back to the gnome to share.

"You must hear and see much in this spot, Vundry," he continues. "Any new whispers of shadowy excitement that might be of interest to a thrill-seeking scoundrel?"