The five major kingdoms of the continent of Khorvaire were once part of a greater kingdom of legend, the mighty state of Galifar. When King Jarot, the last Galifaran monarch died, his five heirs, each in command of one of the Five Nations that comprised the kingdom, refused to bow to ancient tradition in regards to the succession. Instead of allowing the eldest scion to take the crown, the siblings rallied their vassals and individually sought to gain control of the kingdom for themselves. Over time, this decades-long destructive conflict became known as the Last War, for everyone involved came to imagine that the taste for bloodshed and violence would be wiped from the face of Khorvaire when it ended, never to return.
The Last War continued for more than a century, with each of the Five Nations alternately fighting against or alongside one or more of the others as alliances shifted with the wind. In time, new, independent kingdoms were formed as deals were cut and opportunities for rebellion presented themselves. After 102 years of war, the leaders of the twelve recognized nations of Khorvaire that had emerged from the wreckage of Galifar met at the city of Thronehold, the ancient capital city of that kingdom, to draft a peace agreement. With the signing of the Treaty of Thronehold, the Last War at last came to an end.
Today, two years later, the nations of Khorvaire seek to rebuild what has been destroyed and find a long-absent prosperity as the new and uncertain peace spreads across the continent. While officially at peace, the nations’ continue to vie for economic and political supremacy across the face of Eberron. Most of the citizens of Khorvaire seek to heal the wounds created by the Last War, forgetting the past and start a new chapter. After all hope springs eternal and at the end of every long night there is a day, at the end of every winter there is a spring. But history existed before the war that consumed the Kingdom of Galifar and for those who seek to uncover histories mysteries, great power is ripe for the taking. Unfortunately for the citizens of Khorvaire, not all of these seekers of secrets have the best of intentions…
Much of history is as so much chaff on the wind for the simple 'forged known as Haqueton. He works diligently, and makes use of his doentime by constantly tinkering with metal, gears, cogs, springs. He knows armor, but his true love is weaponry - and he has heard of the most interesting new style of weapon - the gunne.
His alter ego Harpoon, likewise seeks guns, and the means to use them. Where Haqueton is honest and kind-hearted, the darkness of Harpoon spreads like a vengeful canker, and Haqueton wonders how Harpoon knows do much more than he does. The dark whispers in the far recesses if his mind linger, but mean little until he becomes Harpoon - and mostly he does not remember their import - only a not-very vague sense of growing urgency...
Rolling into, well, any port in a storm, Rission had picked up a job a few days ago at a cook at a local establishment. With only a little bit of blackpowder left, Rission needed to make some coin so he could use his houses enclave to make some more.
"Order up, fish stew. Hey boss, my shifts over, I'll see you tomorrow."
Rission heads towards the back door, grabs his pack, hooks his mace to his hip, slings his longarm over his back, and heads into the streets of Sharn.
Dharakk steps on to the platform of the Sharn Rail Station and breaths a sigh of relief, glad to be done with that infernal contraption. He hoists his pack to his shoulders and makes his way through the crowded station and is overwhelmed for a second by the vast number of people. "It's even larger then I imagined, he mutters to himself.
I'll never make it to my meeting if I keep standing here gawking like a simpleton, he admonishes himself. With a sense of purpose Dharakk strides into the crowd trying to navigate the unfamiliar city and its bustling crowds, keeping his hand close to his knife. You can never be to safe, he says to himself and finds comfort in the thought.
Liberte' looks out upon the upper Dura. Something about the slow clickety clack of his horse's, Sebastian, saunter calms Liberte's nerves. He glances to the side to look down over the side of the bridge. He observes the flickering lights of the slum below. The sight is both sharp and fuzzy, both moving closer and falling away. Liberte's bloodshot eyes look back at the adventurers ward he was approaching. Should be plenty of opportunity to find a game here. Need some coin for a room
Taryn smiles and waves at crew remaining on the airship that had been his home over the last weeks. He had taken the job specifically to get to Sharn but being away from Stormhome for the first time, it suddenly felt like walking away from the crew was like leaving behind his last connection to home. Still, House Lyrandar had a presence in Sharn and he would never be on his own with them around.
Looking around at the crowds and the scale of the city he can't help but wonder, how am I going to track down my brother in all this?
Approaching the dockmaster he says, "Excuse me, I'm Taryn d'Lyrandar. Could you please direct me to the nearest official representative of House Lyrandar?"
Carduus wakes in the late morning per usual, reluctantly pulling himself up from the straw mat which serves as his bed. He strips off his ragged cotton longhsirt and performs an inspection of his body, checking the state of the various sores and lesions covering his flesh. It was largely force of habit rather than any real use - even if his conditioned worsened, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Perhaps somewhere in the back of his mind some glimmer of hope remained that he'd find his condition improving; if so, it remained unfulfilled.
Prognosis: totally f&@&ed.
Once complete, he dons his clothes and armor, then wraps his face and head in worn, dirty bandages to hide his off-putting visage. He'd originally put clean dressings on himself every day, but eventually realized that the wounds caused by his affliction seemed nigh impervious to further infection; now he saved himself the coin and the trouble by just using the same bandages on his face until they fall apart.
Finally he grabs his knapsack and slings it over his shoulder and cross-wise across his chest, completing his outfit. With a sigh he pushes aside the curtain and steps out of the 6' by 10' room he's called home since arriving in Sharn months ago. He walks down the grubby hall lined with similar curtains, paying no heed to the chatter and occasional shouts which come from behind them in any one of a dozen languages, and emerges out into the district of High Walls.
Liberte' absentmindedly fondles the thin brass medallion draped around his neck. He looks down at it. Civilian Award for Humanitarian Service wrap the circumference in raised letters with a stylized star in its center. He looks up as he gets closer to his destination, The Drunken Dragon.
Don't worry Sebastian. I heard from the others It's a good part of town. Liberte' dismounts smoothly and strokes Sebastian's flank. He takes the reins and leads his horse to the stable post and water trough. He pats Sebastian. Maybe I can get a game going. Be back in a few hours. Be good. Liberte' pulls out a pouch that he takes a pinch from. He places the dried mushrooms between his cheek and gums. The familiar spread of warmth, excitement, and relaxation hit with a soft punch.
As Liberte opens the door to the tavern, the smells hit with an assault of stale sweat, rich tobacco, heady ale, and roasted meats. His eyes slowly adjust as he moves methodically towards the bar. With a nod, he says to the barkeep. A pale of black beer, please Liberte pulls his purse free to fish out some coin.
Hey Mate. Aren't you one of the saviors of Bloodcrier's Hammer? The stranger stops Liberte's hand from his fishing. The man slaps his back. Your moneys no good here friend. Liberte' nods thanks and pulls the pale closer to him. Regale us with your tale friend
Liberte' stares deep into the black liquid and starts to lose himself. A flaming piece of debris floats past his head. He pushes Sebastian to ride faster. He hears someone scream It's shifting! Run! The facade of one of the towers rips free as stone,wood and fire rain down. Liberte' gets his shield up just in time to divert part of the dislodged ship's girder that knocks him free of Sebastian.
Liberte' is spun and sent sliding to the edge of the walkway. His speed only retarded after he grab a dangling mooring line. A explosion from somewhere in the ship caused screams. Liberte' climbs back up and pulls himself back onto the walkway bridge. He coughs and tries to catch his breath while getting to his feet. He looks up to see a small fire elemental racing for him. This can't be good
The stranger shakes Liberte' Hey friend what was it like
Liberte' looks at the man. He says Hot and noisy then takes a drink
Blasted city, Dharakk mutters under his breath. Since I've been here I seen all matter of strange things, as he recalls the burning airship Bloodcrier's Hammer and his efforts in rescuing people from the burning wreck. Blasted ship made me late for my appointment and still can't find my employer in this forsaken maze of a city, he angrily laments as he checks his pocket to make sure the letter is still there.
I've been turned around more times than I can imagine, he complains to himself. He continues his wanderings and wearily surrenders to his rumbling stomach and common sense.
I guess I better stop and get something to eat, and reluctantly adds, and ask for directions.
With stooped shoulders he enters the first tavern he comes a cross, the Drunken Dragon. He pushes his way to a space at the bar an gruffly orders, Ale.
Heading towards the docks, Rission smelled the saltiness of the air and let the breeze wrap itself around him before spotting a familiar face.
It couldn't be. That sly dog all the way out here?
"Taryn? Taryn d'Lyrandar, by the gods it is you. What are you doing all the way out here in Sharn?"
Carduus makes his way out of High Walls and into more prosperous environs within the city, checking in with his "broker." Carduus generally found that the more he knew about his employers the better a life of poverty looked, so he preferred to leave as much of the business side of things to someone else - that someone being Mickey P. The man was a fanatically patriotic delusional paranoid that seemed to think more highly of mules than he did most of the men he managed, but Carduus couldn't argue with his results and happened to share his latter sentiment.
"Got nothin' for ya, Cardy," the one-legged veteran announced as soon as he saw Carduus. Beneath his bandages the mercenary winced at the sobriquet; such social familiarities grated on his nerves. He'd never had any friends, and he wasn't about to have Mickey P be his first. "Stop back t'morrow, maybe I'll have somethin'. In the meantime try not to save nobody unless they look rich, eh?" Mickey P chuckled as Carduus walked back out into the streets.
Crippled bastard. Good thing you didn't have a half-decent medic, otherwise who knows how many people would have to listen to your nonsense with you walking about. Carduus turned his feet towards the only place he found something approaching peace. Yeah, good thing; now it's only me that has to hear it.
Carduus continued on in an irritable mood, suddenly keenly aware of the lightness of his purse. He'd originally planned to arrive in Sharn well stocked and well prepared to undertake a serious medical position, maybe with one of the Houses if he could swing it, and had spent most of his coin on supplies outside the city. When he could afford to be he was very particular when it came to his medicines, and he'd figured that the prices in Sharn itself would be so much higher that he'd make out in the long run.
And he probably would have, if flaming corpses hadn't started raining from the sky over the Orien Trade Road the day he arrived.
Once his magical abilities were expended he began setting about more traditional triage, saving as many people as he could with what was available to him. What was available, of course, were the bulging bags of medical supplies representing his life's savings. Hours later, after reinforcements had arrived from the city and gotten the situation under control, his work was done and his bags were empty as a politician's promises. Some official from Sharn had taken his name, however, and by way of repayment the city had made a to-do of presenting him and the others who'd assisted with a medal: "Civilian Award for Humanitarian Service." City officials had told him that they were unfortunately unable to provide any monetary compensation as the event hadn't technically occured within city limits.
Carduus fingered the medal at the bottom of his knapsack. Might as well read "City's Biggest Rube." Still, he kept it, telling himself that it was worth more to show off to potential employers than its weight in brass.
Bringing himself out of his reverie, Carduus walked the last block to the Drunken Dragon and pushed through it's front door.
The cloak'd figure watched the cavalcade of personages pass by - a wily looking half-orc, a capable man and his mount, a bold woman, a bandaged cripple...then melted back into the shadows of the alley.
Cousin. Go to the inn. Find out more.
Haqueton sighed, and removed the wraps and cloak before stowing them in his satchel. Then sighed again for good measure. It was the only return he had to Harpoon's.... incessance...if that were a term.
The warforged shrugged. He had no idea, it sounded like a good word. And Harpoon would hate it too.
Haqueton rolled the word in his mind, along with the other he had most recently coined: "resonouslessness". The trouble, and chief joy of being naive was not knowing what one didn't know. Like who to be scared of.
Upon entering the 'Dragon, Haqueton found he wasn't quite as naive as he thought. He looked around, and realised he was out of his depth.
What in .... what am I doing here?
"Rission?!?" Taryn calls out in reply, a look of shock washing over his face, "thousands of people in this city and it takes five seconds for the riff-raff to find me!" He smiles broadly and laughs, all fear of being alone away from his family melting away.
"What's it been, four or five years?" he asks shaking the smaller man's hand. "I'm glad to see you; I wish the circumstances were different though... My brother's gone missing here in Sharn and the House gave me leave to go search for him. How long have you been in the city? Have you heard anything about his disappearance?"
Tired of walking beylinda makes her stop at the nearest inn.
The sign above the door read the Drunken Dragon.
The rather pretty woman wearing extremely fashionable cloth entered. She made her way toward the barkeep and ordered à drink before laying down her backpack.
While wearing no armor she was rather Well armed. As she looked around inside the comon room
Rission's body shook as his friend clasped his hand. Another taste of home here in Sharn was more than welcome. And Taryn's brother owed him a few silver from a bet he lost years ago.
"It's good to see you old friend. I don't count the years, but it's been too long since our paths have crossed. Haldoth's vanished you say? I haven't heard anything, but I'm not quite as in the know as you are about certain things in the House. How about we hit a local tavern? The food's not quite as good as mine, but you are the adventuring sort. Where's the first place you go in town for information, rumors, and a friendly face? Come, we have a lot of catching up to do, and I have a new toy you might like to see."
Rission pats the larger half elf on the back and turns towards the hustle and bustle of the city. He leads Taryn to the Drunken Dragon where the two find a booth and order a few drinks.
Liberte' looks uncomfortable by the continued attention from his new 'friend'. He looks around the bar giving non committal 'yeah's and 'nope's to the sycophantic drivel he was hearing. An orc or half orc across the bar, he squints at it. A look of recognition crosses his features. Hey! T-Bone!
Liberte' gestures he's going over to meet him. A poor memory for names had always forced him to compensate. He usually gave nicknames to those he liked in someway. He tries to remember Dharakk's name. When he first heard it, he thought it sounded like someone running into a door. Duh-rumph?Puh-rack? Crap it all.
He had seen the muscled beast of a man with not insignificant risk to himself, save a little one. Tough and kind hearted, He did like him. Thanks for the drink man. Got to go Liberte' slips off the stool and navigates around and through the bar. He bumps into something hard.
Holy blow me. It was a warforge, He'd had never seen one up close and personal. His mouth agape, Liberte' cocks his head to the side. Sorry man he says as an apology for running into him. Pausing for a moment, he says. I'm curious...can a warforge get drunk?
Before the warforge can answer, Liberte's attention has already shifted.Wraps! Good to see you man. He liked the sickly looking medic. Liberte' thought he was funny. The whole time that the medic was applying soothing balm to his burns, he was b$$%@ing about how much money he was losing. But it really didn't seem to slow down his benevolence. Hey man, T-bone's here too. He points off in Dharakk's Direction.
Haqueton's chestplate rings as something - someone bumps into him. The stranger
*correction*
The man with the mount
....the man he had seen earlier with the mount apologises for some reason and then asks if warforged can gewt drunk.
Haqueton makes an approximation of a smile.
"I'm not sure, why don't we try and f...."
but the man is gone.
A lesson cousin. The fleshwrought are often inconsiderate, or considerate of their own sense of self. Still. An interesting one that.
Now. Do something.
Haqueton steels himself. He walks to the bar, and wedges himself between the bar and Liberte.
"Apology accepted. I am. Haqueton. [here again attempts to smile] Let's see how inebriated I can get. Would you also like a drink? T-Bone?" Haqueton asks Dharrak earnestly and innocently, unaware of his use of the nickname.
. A look of recognition crosses his features. Hey! T-Bone!
Liberte' gestures he's going over to meet him.
Dharakk looks over at the familiar looking man trying to place him and finally does, the airship, that's where I know him from. Why does he keep calling me T-Bone. As Liberte continues to make his way across the bar, pointing out Dharakk to everybody, Dharrakk grows uncomfortable and is about to leave when a Warforged addresses him.
“ Would you also like a drink? T-Bone?" Haqueton asks Dharrak earnestly and innocently, unaware of his use of the nickname.
Crud nuggets, too late to leave now. Plus I am thirsty, he thinks. With a grim look that passes for a smile in his book Dharakk answers as he motions for Haqueton to have a seat, " The names Dharakk and if you're buying I'm drinking."
Smack right into a door. He says under his breath. Yeah. If your buying, I'm drinking too.
Taryn follows his old friend into the bar and surveils the motley clientele therein. He makes particular note of the warforged and the half-orc who looks nearly as strong as himself.
"Are you spending a lot of time at places like this these days?" he asks seemingly a little surprised (and perhaps just a bit disapproving). "Was Haldoth spending a lot of time with questionable people? From what little we heard from the House here it seemed like they didn't have a ton of contact with him even before he vanished..."
Rission waves his hand in front of his face to disregard the current clientele.
This is quite a few oddities if I do say so myself. But I don't come here often enough to know that for sure.
"No, of course not. Okay, once a month or so. But who doesn't like to cut loose every now and then? Although there are quite a few irregulars here, nobody I've seen in town at least. Hey, don't give me that look Taryn, I'm a chef at a pretty decent place right now. Wait, I think I've seen the woman at the bar before. Yeah, can't forget clothes like that. Came in for food, didn't socialize too much, but seemed to be well off enough. Maybe a member of another house? Ah, enough of my rambling, I also have to show you this. Hear about those new toys Cannith has been coming up with?"
The half-elf pulls the sling up onto the table to reveal a nickel plated musket with pearl inlay and a tentacle engraved on the barrel.
"So, whaddya think Taryn?"
Haqueton positively beams. He has succeeded in making himself sociable.
"Well! Mr T-Bone Dharrak, and....Mr Sir. What would you lik..." Haqueton's eyes waver slightly as he sees a gunne.
"Excuse me, Mr T-Bone and Mr...Sir. [turns to the bar] Three of the finest!" he says to the barkeep, doling out coins for the ales...
He sidles up close to the half-elf who produced the gunne. He has never seen anything so beautiful...
"A beautiful piece, to be sure!"
Stay close to this one little cousin. Learn everything you can about this weapon. When we too have a gunne....
This place is getting crowded, Dharakk thinks as looks around at the bar.. When his drink arrives he nods at the Warforged and asks, "You got a name Gears?"
Haqueton murmurs to Dharakk.
"Ah. Yes. As I said. Haqueton is my appellation. And you are T-Bone Dharakk! Have you seen this masterful weapon? A...gunne!"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Beylinda turned around toward à certain table it seems that some Méry drinking was going to start. There was a bunch of odd people she was thinking to herself
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Carduus walks into the Drunken Dragon's common room and instantly finds himself begin to relax; the clientele was disreputable enough that his appearance didn't raise any eyebrows or questions, but not so much that he feared for his purse.
Ahhh... a couple hours alone with some cheap ale in a dark corner is just what the doctor orde-
"Wraps! Good to see you man. Hey man, T-bone's here too."
Before his irritation at the inebriate can even curl his lip, Liberte' has already shifted his attention away to some other poor souls who had the misfortune of the drug-addled man believing that they were acquainted. He vaguely recognized one of them as another "Civilian Humanitarian," though he had serious doubts as to the authenticity of the moniker "T-Bone."
Guy probably gave him a fake name and hoped never to see him again. No such luck, friend.
Seizing the moment, Carduus quickly strides to the other side of the common room and grabs himself a table behind two half-elves, one of whom seemed to be trying to sell the other some sort of ceremonial metal club.
"A firearm?!?" Taryn exclaims, looking wide-eyed at the mechanical marvel, "I thought the House was still trying to decide if relations with House Cannith were strong enough for us to make use of these?"
"They are. Fortunately through friend of a friend and all that my family was able to acquire one. It was broken at the time and after fiddling around with it for a bit I gave up. Stripped it for parts and built it from the ground up. I didn't quite understand some things at first, but I've come to enjoy it. The ammunition is expensive, but it packs quite a punch."
The server comes by and drops off two mugs of ale. Rission grabs his, raises it to his friend and proposes a toast.
"To our friendship and health."
He takes a swig like any sailor, and asks a question.
"So, aside from the missing brother, what else have you been up to Taryn?"
-Posted with Wayfinder
Haqueton murmurs to Dharakk.
"Ah. Yes. As I said. Haqueton is my appellation. And you are T-Bone Dharakk! Have you seen this masterful weapon? A...gunne!"
Dharrak responds, "Just Dharakk if you don't mind."
He considers for a moment then continues, "Never seen one but wouldn't mind getting my hands on one." With a grin he adds, "I've heard tell that they sound like thunder and all that hear the noise wet themselves."
Dharrak responds, "Just Dharakk if you don't mind."He considers for a moment then continues, "Never seen one but wouldn't mind getting my hands on one." With a grin he adds, "I've heard tell that they sound like thunder and all that hear the noise wet themselves."
Like when she tells you, 'I'm pregnant' Liberte' drifts as he takes another long drink. Gears is a good nickname for you. Gears is a guy whose your buddy. Liberte' tentatively pats Haqueton's arm.
You were built for the purposes of others. I know what that's like. He turns to look out among the other patrons while leaning his back and elbows on the table. You don't need to live the fate given to you by others. Change your stars. he begins to pontificate. You can do anything you want. Get a puppy. Get married. He looks at Haqueton. In your case, a fat girl with low self worth He looks out at the other patrons again. Anything He takes another swig
The mood in the Dragon is festive, the celebration of the Treaty tomorrow should be a big party, assuming that one were to partake in it of course. The desperate would use it as an opportunity to take from the revelers much needed coin to continue to eke out a meager existence.
"You don't say?!" a Human shouts from the far end of the bar.
He slams his fist on the bar several times to quite the crowd down, "Ladies and Germs, we got verified celebrities - heroes even here! Who doesn't remember the crash of the Bloodcrier's Hammer! Why we have some of the folks who saved a bunch of people from that wreckage among us right now! Raise your glass and toast them!"
The crowd cries out "Here. Here!"
"Another round for them heroes on me Sal old boy!" The three heroes of the day get their drinks refilled, on the house so not much is coming out of Sal's pocket here.
The man approaches Liberte' and Dharakk and motions for Carduus to come back to where the three now stand. "Civilian Award for Humanitarian Service. What rubbish, you all are brave or stupid. The question is are you also in need of some coin? People like you, I mean with your sensibilities, are needed every day here in the City of Towers to do odd jobs. Hell I got members of Houses in my employ, Warforged, you name it, I'll hire 'em. Good pay too! Any interest?"
The man is speaking loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear though most of the patrons are not paying attention to the pitch.
Haqueton nods to Just "T-Bone" Dharrak and listens with growing perplexity as Liberte extols the virtues of freedom, puppies and overweight women who do not believe in themselves.
Correction: That one who wishes to call us "Gears" - is NOT interesting. He is a fool, or pretends to be one, and shall be dealt with.
Also, the Half-Orc - his name is Dharrak. Not Just, not T-Bone. Just. "Dharrak".
Offer your services, little cousin. More coin could pave our way to a gunne...
Haqueton blinks a few moments as if realising something. Or several somethings.
"I will take your coin sir. What would you have us...me....do?"
Thinking about his flaccid coin purse and his lack of options in filling it Dharrak cautiously asks, "Pay any good"
Try not to appear to eager or desperate, he reminds himself as he take another drink. I could get used to being a hero.
"Ladies and Germs, we got verified celebrities - heroes even here! Who doesn't remember the crash of the Bloodcrier's Hammer! Why we have some of the folks who saved a bunch of people from that wreckage among us right now! Raise your glass and toast them!"
Carduus's shoulders slump in dismay as the man calls him out, followed by the crowd in general. Here we go. "Oh, what was it like? Oh, is that why you're wearing bandages? Oh, let me get a vicarious thrill from tales of others' suffering!" No good deed goes unpunished - when are you going to learn that, Carduus?
"Another round for them heroes on me Sal old boy!"
Carduus lowers his head and waves away the ensuing questions and backslaps, but accepts the free ale. As the nearby patrons begin to get the message he raises his fresh mug to his lips, just about to find out if free ale tastes any sweeter than that bought with his own coin, when "Sal" waves him over towards Liberte' and the half-orc. He picks up his mug and rises, stalking across the room to join the trio. Oh, I'll come talk to you, you...
"...rubbish, you all are brave or stupid. The question is are you also in need of some coin? People like you, I mean with your sensibilities, are needed every day here in the City of Towers to do odd jobs... Any interest?"
People with our sensibilities - brave or stupid. Carduus reflexively fingers his moneypurse, letting out a sigh of defeat.
"Yeah, I'm interested. How much coin?"
Sal grins as the Warforged approaches, "It seems my offer has enticed more than just our local heroes eh? I get plenty of jobs that pay plenty good, though nothing at the moment. That can change right quick mind you!
Anyone else interested?
I'll put yer names on the register and if anyone inquires I'll contact you and set up the meeting with the client. My brokers fees are reasonable, 5% for jobs of less than a thousand marks and 10% for jobs over a thousand marks".
'Nothing at the moment.' Once again I'm in the "stupid" category; still, it couldn't hurt to have two hooks out in the water.
"Carduus. You have something to write with?" The medic looks askance at Liberte' as he writes down his contact information.
The last thing I need is him dropping by for a visit.
When the warforged had sidled up to Rission and mentioned the firearm Rission was none too pleased. His voice slowly rising as he talked to the warforged.
"Look buddy, I don't know who you think you are, but you haven't been invited to sit with my friend and I. Now if you can turn around and leave me be before I dance the hornpipe over your grave you rusty, barnacle bottomed, powder wetting, tin can."
His ears did perk up at the offer of coin though.
"Huh, my coin purse is a little lighter than it should be."
Beylinda raise her glass toward the broker You can sign me up for when i am not doing anything i'll take into considération job offer she says getting closer to him so that she doesn't have to tell but not so close as to leave her stuff unattended of drawin in long casual conversation