- There's that half-orc who can't hold his liquor and is only an average wrestler. He's associated with the church of Kord although Asfelkir is not exactly playing that up this last week.
"Thanks for your concern, Finneas, Atol. I hope we can plan a way for one of us to enter alone—or seemingly alone—but have an easy way to signal the others."
Dr. Toffitt considers for a moment. Which among us would have the easiest time surviving a trap. Is it me? Perhaps...
"We have a certain amount of flexibility. I can give any of us my likeness. But I am happy to take the risk myself. They will not be able to sniff out deception, because there will be none."
"Dyrant, Atol, have you the ability to form a line of communication over a distance, or at least to sense if something goes awry? I though perhaps the feather token, but there is a chance the bird's path would be obstructed."
Toffitt looks upon Dyrant and notices his bruises. A look of concern becomes a frown. "For gods' sake, Dyrant, Atol. Cauldron's safety is at stake. The city needs us at our best, and you take up the cudgel now? Even if you're able to heal Dyrant's wounds, it will take up valuable energy." He stops, sighing. "I am sorry. I mean no disrespect for your ways, but perhaps your saint would consent to wait for penance until after we've prevented mass flooding."
"Thanks for your concern, Doctor, but this is a religious matter. That we Cuthbertines are strong precisely because we adhere to our Lord's teachings on the Cudgel, not despite it." Dyrant gives Atol a sidelong glance.
"We cannot deny the cudgel merely because it isn't convenient, but find the strength to rise above and take the lesson to make us stronger. And, as for healing these 'wounds', you truly mistake the blessings of the lesson. These will heal naturally in time...and as for my effectiveness, I am here and standing and inspired to find these wands." Dyrant holds his side as the pain of prolonged speaking hurts his ribs.
It's too bad he understands so little of the Spirit. Hopefully, now that it is explained to him, he will see the wisdom in these ways.
Dyrant thinks upon the Doctor's meeting.
"I can offer you the Blessing of St. Cuthbert, but little more Doctor. I do not have the proper prayers to help you further. If you wished, I would wait nearby should trouble arise."
"Thank you, Dyrant. Perhaps I will also find a use for our thunderstones... I would very much appreciate it if you waited nearby—within a couple of blocks, perhaps. Outside."
He has another inspiration. "I wonder if Skie has a dog whistle. I could blow a code on it if it appears that I'm safe. Use the thunderstone if there's trouble."
That afternoon, Atol will prepare a few scrolls while he waits.
- Cure Light Wounds (12.5gp)
- Liberating Command (cast at lvl 4 (50gp)
- Remove Sickness (12.5gp)
Total 75gp spent.
---
That night, Atol will plan on waiting a few blocks away. As the Dr. leaves, he'll cast the following
Bull's Strength (4 minutes)
Protection from Evil (4 minutes)
Shield of Faith (4 minutes)
...and finally on all the assembled as Dr. Toffitt starts to walk away
Bless (4 minutes)
"Good luck Dr. Bring back what we need to know to get those wands safely!"
As Dr. Toffitt walks out of sight, Atol strains to hear the thunderstone warning sound out. He fidgets nervously, playing with his, uh, cudgel.
Dr. Toffitt stops by Skie's for a dog whistle and, if possible, a spring-loaded wand wrist sheath.
"Ah, Skie. I was sad to miss you the other night at the opening of Jazidrune. Glim seemed sad that you could not stay. Perhaps you could join us for a meal sometime at the offices of the Cauldron Five."
As the party readies for the rendezvous, he prepares an elixir to speed his strides, as well as one to disguise his appearance.
Immediately before approaching the building, while Atol prays over him, Dr. Toffitt will drink his special draught. As always , the curative has the impact of relaxing his need to control the beast within. Some physical markers of his dormant panther self become more evident. The yellow of his left eye becomes deeper. The shadow of his beard and his body hair, mostly concealed under his clothing, becomes more pronounced. Teeth gain a bit of a point, though nothing terribly noticeable.
He has controlled the beast, but his curative allows him a more relaxed control. This is in contrast to his brief flare-ups of bestial rage, which are more jagged in their manifestation.
"Thanks!" Glimmil replies to Lord Vhalantru, suspecting the man is somewhat important in the circles of the humans, yet unsure if he should use the man's title or not. Better to just simply say thanks.
Glimmil shuffles through the invitations before bounding off in search of the others to explain they get to attend the Demonskar Ball!
"Mister Maynor! Mister Maynor!" he begins, out of breath from rushing to find Dyrant sermonizing on the street. "This for you!"
Glimmil hustles around looking for the others, handing out tickets (and giving Finneas the crater with the claw).
After a few hours of planning, and with Dyrant and Atol's offer of divine aid buoying him along, Toffitt realizes that he may not have communicated his intentions clearly. He seeks out the group at the house, and hires a messenger or two to track down any strays.
The town is about to drown, and our little lothario is busy partying it up. Where are Dyrant's scrolls. I need to cudgel my forehead with paper.
Once he has everyone's ear, he says, "Forgive me. I was so excited about our lead that I neglected to say how much I need you all this evening."
He gets a familiar look on his face—a sign that he's about to be long winded and boring, with the hesitancy of someone who isn't used to asking for help.
"If we are able to ascertain the wands' location this evening, we will need to immediately act on our intelligence. The city is in grave danger, despite the brave face our neighbors are showing by continuing their celebration."
"Although Atol and Dyrant's prayers will protect me, I would ask you all to be at the ready, in case it is a trap or I gain intelligence that requires action. Let us hope it's quick, so Glimmil can get back to his flagons."
Dyrant accepts the invitation from Glim and watches as the gnome goes bounding down the street in search of who-knows-what.
"Thank you, Glim."
Dyrant returns to his conversation with Atol, Doctor Toffitt, and Finn on the corner, still holding his invitation in his hand.
Dyrant considers the Doctor's words with interest, but with lingering confuzzlement.
"Good Doctor, when do you meet your contact again?"
Glimmil points at Toffitt and nods.
"Be assured, I'll be there doctor!"
As the others talk, Glimmil finds an opportune moment to relate Lord Vhalantru's enthusiasm over the deeds of the Cauldron Five.
"Lord Vhalandru was most certain we'd find the wands. I don't know who the other guy at the contest was, Lord Arse-laxin' or something I believe they called him... but that can't be right, it's vulgar!"
Glimmil strokes his imaginary beard for a moment.
"Well anyway, Lord Arse said he couldn't share his opium with the Cauldron Five and something about his son crafting some wands soon..."
Glimmil's eyes dart upward as he mentally recounts the facts in his mind.
If only I were wise like Atol, I could remember all these little pesky details better!
"Ah Glim! I've just been thinking about you." Dyrant says while gently rubbing a particularly painful welt on his wrist.
"Don't suppose you'd be up to visiting Skie and selling this equipment, would you? I am hopeful of being to afford a particularly useful item."
"Certainly, Big D - I was planning on visiting Miss Skie after we all caught up here. Everything okay? You look a little bruised... you didn't try wrestling with Finn did you?"
Glimmil looks up at his stew-eating friend, somewhat oblivious to the urgency of Cauldron's imminent flooding.
"Midnight, Dyrant."
"...you didn't try wrestling with Finn did you?"
Heh. I've seen him drink *and* wrestle...I think I could take him at both.
* * *
"Midnight, eh?" Dyrant's mind works quickly.
It's X o'clock now.
Travel to Skies...10 minutes.
Sell the banded mail, weapons from the Funky Monkee...15 minutes.
Listen to Glim flirt with Skie...4 hours.
Nope, no time for a sermon or my ministrations tonight.
Dyrant sighs.
And people will go hungry for want of a gnomish love tonic...
Dyrant looks at Doctor Toffitt (and the numerous tonics he carries) like he has the greatest idea ever.
...nah...it'll never happen.
"Thank you Glimmil, what does this claw mean?"
-----------------
"Doctor, if you were supposed to come alone, and they see us, won't they just run?"
Finneas stands armored and ready to assist the Doctor, but is biting his lip in concentration and he tries to come up with a way to do it without being seen.
Maybe if I had the Vanishing I could sneak up on him.
"Glimmil, thank you for the invitation, but I fear I cannot go until the wands are safely recovered. If we manage that this evening, great, but if not I must keep hunting for them and will have no taste for a party. I'd feel too guilty you understand."
During the planning, Atol will suggest,
"Finneas, I don't think they'll run if we're far enough away. The trick is knowing how far that is. :( Dyrant, where is the nearest pub to the meeting place? Perhaps we can loiter there with one or more of us just outside listening for the thunderstone?"
"Agreed, Atol. Though I might ask that you be situated outside somewhere, so that you can hear my signal if things go awry."
"The claw? Hmmm..." Glimmil glances upward again in thought.
"I think you're supposed to come to the ball dressed up as Naboo-tron or something like that, he's some sort of bad demon guy. You get to do a mock combat with the guy who's dressed as something-something-Mason."
Glimmil looks at Finneas like he should be very happy.
"I'm thinking wrestling might be involved?"
Glimmil waits as if that should surely seal Finneas' interest.
"I think one of the Arse-lax-ive people is supposed to be the 'Mason guy. I think he might even be one of those Stormjerks you keep talking about?"
Glimmil nods as if the deal is surely sealed now.
~*~
Glancing at Atol, Glimmil has difficulty hiding his worry.
"But, Atol! It's a ball! We get to dress up! Anybody who's somebody will be there!"
With little change in Atol's demeanor, Glimmil continues to appeal to the man.
"There's probably free food?"
Glimmil sees the slightest opening growing.
"And... and... you never know, there might be something bad that happens! Like if I was a bad guy wanting to stick it to Cauldron, this would be a good place to you know... make my move. We should be there just in case, right?"
Glancing at Atol, Glimmil has difficulty hiding his worry.
"But, Atol! It's a ball! We get to dress up! Anybody who's somebody will be there!"
With little change in Atol's demeanor, Glimmil continues to appeal to the man.
"There's probably free food?"
Glimmil sees the slightest opening growing.
"And... and... you never know, there might be something bad that happens! Like if I was a bad guy wanting to stick it to Cauldron, this would be a good place to you know... make my move. We should be there just in case, right?"
"Well free food is a draw. We'll see what happens tonight. If we get the wands back it's a, er, non-issue."
Why is Glimmil so into parties? Gnomes are just happy I guess!
Atol smiles.
The Doctor heads to meet the sender of the note at the warehouses. They are directly behind the Tipped Tankard Tavern, so the rest of the party waits there confident they can hear a thunderstone there.
Midnight comes and goes and no one approaches the doctor. He waits and waits while the party eats and drinks, but nothing occurs.
Whoever returns to the party's house will find a note on the door.
You were told no backup. 800 gold pieces. Tonight at midnight.
Sigh
"We should all be visibly at the ball so that any watchers see us there. That way the Dr. can meet our contact sure in the knowledge that we're not about. We can't screw this up!"
Atol will sleep and wake the next day ready for another try - and ball planning.
Atol will look around town for a costume to fit his invite. Is there anyone in town doing custom costumes?
Assuming he can get something (he hopes!), he'll be going to the ball in costume with his cudgel and a pouch of scrolls just in case. His backpack with the heavy gear will be left at home as will his armor though he will still be wearing the muleback chords out of habit, and in case he needs to carry any bodies...
All the dress and gown makers are happy to assist the party for only double the normal prices. The quality of the costume will be readily apparent:
Artisan's outfit 1 gp = 2
Entertainer's outfit 3 gp = 6
Scholar's outfit 5 gp = 10
Courtier's outfit 30 gp = 60
Noble's outfit 75 gp = 150
Royal outfit 200 gp = 400
Dr. Toffitt will gather the gold from the party coffers and go the rendezvous alone. Hopefully with Dyrant's ward on.
Atol doesn't know much about demons, so he relies on the skills of the tailor he visits.
He'll spend 10gp on an outfit - scholar's clothes doubled.
"It's a little tight at the waist, can you let it out a bit please? Ahhhh, much better, thanks."
I wonder what kind of demon this is? It doesn't look like much. I should have spent more on it. ahh well, it'll do for one party. 10gp is a huge sum for such a thing!
Atol wonders how Glimmil is going to look.
"After my showing at the wrestling and drinking I'll need to make a good show at the ball."
Finneas will spend the day finding out what Nabatron looks like, and then hashing out his desires with the tailor.
"What, no, that won't work. Why would I want to wear a cart costume? Atol to pull me? That doesn't make any sense. I need to look demonic. While wearing plate mail. And a sword. Of course. Just make it look demonic. I don't know, strap horns and chains and this stack of used of flyers from one of Dyrant's speeches. Where did I get them? They were in the outhouse. No, nobody was using them. Well of course I left some."
At some point, Glimmil will head to Skie's shop, to sell any goods requested by the others and ask Skie to be his guest at the ball.
Before he steps inside, he prays to Garl for guidance.
Oh Great Garl, the mysteries of Jzadirune pale in comparison to the mysteries of the fairer gender...
Dr. Toffitt returns from the meeting spot to where he had asked the group to wait. Not finding them there, he searches the neighborhood, and finds them at the Tipped Tankard. "What in all of the gods' names are you doing here? We were attempting to be subtle. Well, nothing to help it now. We'll need to ante up three hundred more tomorrow. I'll be coming back alone."
Not much for formal events, Toffitt nevertheless puts some thought to a costume for the ball. I likely won't be able to attend now, but I might as well be prepared. Hm, Nabthatoron... I suppose he's something like Old Scratch...
"Dyrant, have you any idea what this Nabthatoron looks like?"
On the morrow, Toffitt will seek out a tailor. He will also put some thought into augmenting his costume with an elixir that disguises his features. If I must dress like the devil, I shall do so with panache!
Roll d8:
1=*facepalm*
2=eye roll
3=audible sigh
4=talk to Angel with irritation
5=Go get gristle stew
6=Scratch armpit
7=Insult party member (Go to Insult Chart, below)
8=roll twice more
Roll d6:
1=Insult Atol, then regret it
2=Mock Finn
3=Pity Cog
4=Lament the weirdness/goofiness of gnome race
5=Point out flaws with Cauldron Church of St. Cuthbert
6=Roll twice more
Dyrant looks forward to the event, and purchases a fancy formal Clerical vestments for the occasion. They will match the colors of St. Cuthbert and be a little demonic as Dyrant thinks he can get away with.
Know local for Nabthataron.
Atol ends up looking like a demon headed for college. Dark red robes with the cuffs and hems cut like flames. The look is completed with a hat similar to a beret with horns sewn on it.
Finneas ends up with an impressive looking costume which is mostly his platemail with accessories. The tailor initially tries to talk Finneas out of the armor, but then comes around. He spends the majority of his time crafting huge red leather wings that attach to Finneas's armor.
Skie thanks Glimmil for the flowers and consents to joining him at the ball as long as that girl isn't going to be there.
Glimmil ends up with an obsidian black mustaches that droops down on the sides. His outfit is a sharply cut black outfit with red velvet fringes. A small tail with a pointy end finishes the look.
Toffitt
Dyrant looks similar to Atol, but without the beret. Instead, he has an iron chain belt with dull spikes. The tailor also offers Dyrant a matching spiked collar if he'd like it.
The ball starts at 6 pm with the mock battle at 7 pm. Drop in whenever you're ready.
Dyrant scratches his armpit and facepalms at the sign of everyone's costumes. He then catches a whiff of his own hand and decides he might want to find time for a bath before the ball.
Realizing that the mountain on his invitation indicates that he should dress as a town founder, Toffitt tries to remember what he knows about the founders (or of any monuments to them).
He also asks some of his comfort women patients for their advice...
Given his sources, Toffitt will likely choose a founder associated with or beloved by the city's common folk, which likely involves an artisan's outfit. Underneath, he will have his mithril shirt, dueling blade worn with ornamental weapon ties.
He will arrive with his companions.
Atol musters up a smile and wonders how high the flood waters are at this point.
I hope Dr. Toffitt is successful tonight. More importantly I hope he stays safe!
Atol strides into the ball a little high strung, but by the time of the combat he has relaxed enough to enjoy himself a bit.
There is nothing I can do until Dr. Toffitt lets us know where the wands are.
While enjoying himself however, he does avoid liquor, got to stay sharp! and instead drinks coffee or tea or whatever Cauldronites drink to stay awake in the wee hours of the morning. He also keeps largely to himself and doesn't initiate any conversation on his own, though he does allow himself to be drawn in by any party goers interested in talking to him.
He looks over the ball, These are good people and they do not deserve wet feet.
Finneas arrives, sword strapped to his back and armor freshly oiled.
This is a waste of time. Look at these rich fools. I bet this food costs more than I saw in a year at the orphanage.
Those who look him in the eye see a dangerous glint of madness there. Hands flexing he spears a hunk of food and eats it, fully playing to his barbaric image.
Dr. Toffitt, thoroughly confused by local customs, sigils, and his own ineptitude at costumery, asks the costume merchant for an outfit suitable for a courtier, with breeches fashioned to be short and costumed goat legs to cover his legs. He will purchase a cloak fashioned to look like wings, and a set of horns for his head. When it comes time for the ball, he will use an elixir to put a convincing glamour over the costume, making himself look like an incubus with actual goat legs, tattooed wings and horns.
He arrives on time, keeping careful track of the time and refusing any offers of drink.
"I... err, don't think so." Glimmil replies to Skie, wondering if Ellywinkle would be at the costumed ball.
Glimmil briefly considers telling Skie that Elly's "no so band and she should get to know her", but his sense of self-preservation overrides that clearly unwise course and he simply stands there smiling in thought.
As Skie continues to give him a look, he adds, "I mean I only had one ticket besides the Cauldron Five, and of course I came to you first, Skie!"
Given the opportunity, he'll share his stores of the orc-ape and the drinking contest with Skie before excusing himself to find his costume.
~*~
Glimmil arrives a full hour early to the ball, unable to contain his excitement, twirling his mock tail furiously with his enthusiasm while greeting almost any perfect stranger he can find.
"Oh, hello. Exquisite horns my dear!"
"You sir, brilliant fangs, wish I thought of those myself."
"Hey, you have a tail too! Oooh - a barbed end, clever indeed!"
Skie smiles at Glimmil and pecks him on the cheek. "You're as adorable as you are incorrigible. I will meet you there later."
Glimmil arrives first at the party and is stopped by a human dressed in fine clothes, but obviously an employee of the Coy Nixie. He lowers his nose just enough to see Glimmil, "Can I help you? If you are part of the extra staff for today you are LATE. If you are a guest, I will presume you are here for the first time. You are EARLY."
"You could make the best use of your time by taking your dog to the stables. Head north to the first intersection and turn left. This street will take you to Magma Avenue. Turn left and go to second left turn. This will take you to Obsidian Avenue. Go to the third right turn and follow this to the East Gate. The stables are directly north of the gate."
~*~
Atol arrives with many other guests at 6 pm. The man at the front door looks closely at Atol whose costume looks like a rough draft compared to the ones worn by other guests. However, after a minute of examining the invitation, the man allows Atol to shuffle in with the rest of the crowd. There is no tea or coffee to be found.
~*~
Finneas arrives and is greeted. "Excellent costume, sir. I especially like the mask." Upon seeing the claw on his invitation, the man will share, "You know you are supposed to collapse once you are struck with the staff of Surabar, yes?"
~*~
Toffitt is greeted with a mixture amazement and disgust. "Very authentic costume, sir. No one accompanying you I see. Yes. Very authentic. Please hurry in, sir."
~*~
Dyrant receives a greeting similar to Atol's. "I see you spared no expense, sir. Please enjoy the party."
~*~
Shortly after 6, Skie arrives at the Coy Nixie. She wears a red leather body suit with a high neckline. It's not exactly clear how she would have been able to put it on without it being sewn on in place. Spiked heels set her an inch or two above Glimmil and a barbed tail sways as she walks and even after she stops. A black leather whip is coiled at her side and her head is crowned in flickering flames above small horns that poke through her hair.
She takes the whip and wraps it around Glimmil's waist and pulls him close in front of the doorman. Glimmil can feel the heat from the flames on her head as she kisses him. "He's with me."
"Very good Ms. Aldersun. Have a good night, miss." He bows low to Skie and Glimmil as they enter.
"Drink, sir?"
Toffitt turns to see Carts holding a platter with glasses on it filled with a deep purple wine. He looks rather dapper in the livery of the Aslaxin family. He lowers his voice to a whisper, "I needed the extra coin and thought I could be of help. The head cook is an 'acquaintance' of mine. Are you meeting the person here?"
The first hour of the party sees the arrival of almost a hundred guests. Hushed, and not so hushed whispers, among the guests eventually make it clear to everyone present who the members of the Cauldron 5 are.
Lord Vhalntru is dressed in exquisite clothes. He speaks openly with the Cauldron 5, shaking their hands, and thanking them for their service to the city. "You saved those people and that poor orphan, Terrem. You faced that hideous floating eye and survived. You dealt with those sneaky goblins. You killed a vampire and brought back poor Sarcem's body."
With a little less enthusiasm, the mayor also greets each of the Cauldron 5 during the party.
Lord Aslaxin is equally loud in praising the accomplishments of the Stormblades, and especially his son, Zachary, who is dressed as Surabar. Zachary wears clerical vestments worthy of a high priest or head of a wizarding college. Just visible around his neck is a pendant with a star composed of spears and maces (Kord). He carries an iron banded staff with a glowing ioun stone on the top secured by gold strands.
The rest of the Stormblades are present and dressed as founders of the city. Each carries a weapon at their side, obviously part of the costume, but also obviously capable of being used in a real fight.
As 7 o'clock approaches, people begin to gather at each side of the main ballroom for the battle between Surabar and Nabthatoron. The Stormblades and Lord Aslaxin gather behind Zachary as he steps forward into the center of the room awaiting the arrival of Nabthatoron (aka Finneas).
"Carts!" Toffitt is perhaps a little too excited to see the object of his affections. "I'm so glad you were here. Don't you dare call me sir. But no drink for me tonight. I'm working too, in my way. Which person do you mean?" He tries to recall whether he mentioned the Last Laugh contact during pillow talk.
Glimmil only manages a gulp as he's pulled into the ball along with Skie. He's clearly smiling - even moreso than usual.
"Which person do you mean?"
"The one at midnight. Does he have the wands? You could have one drink. You have plenty of time. I know it takes several before you're 'relaxed.'"
"Oh, I don't need anything to relax with you, my dear. Don't worry yourself about the wands. I'll let you know more once I know more."
I really should watch what I say late at night... Wait... Aslaxin. Stormblades. Is Lord Aslaxin using my bedmate to get information from me, so they can beat me to the informant? That would be a disaster for all involved. Not to mention a low thing for Carts to do...
"I'll be fine, Carts. Must keep my wits about me. Hard to say whether the thieves who stole the wands have agents spying on us here, after all."
Toffitt makes a point of cordially greeting the Stormblades and Lord Aslaxin. "A fine party, my lord. Your staff is most professional. That fellow—Carts, I believe—really goes out of his way to please."
Atol makes some effort to say hello to each of the stormblades and congratulate them on the costumes. He is quite sincere.
"Your costume is far superior to mine in every way - good work! Perhaps next year when I have less on my mind I'll be able to come closer to your tailors skills. It's the first time I've been to this party, have you been here before?"
At 7pm Atol does what he can to get a good spot to see the fight.
Glimmil continues to follow Skie around the ball much like Cog follows Glimmil around pretty much anywhere.
As he begins to regain some of his senses, which is no meager feat given his proximity to Skie's tight, red leather bodysuit, he continues to cheerfully interact with members of the crowd. However, Glimmil is cautious and stays clears of female gnomes, unless they are of Glimmil's gradmama's age.
"Hey you! Good to see you!"
I wonder who that was?
"... stunning costume. Don't forget to cheer Nabthatoron this year!"
"Hey hey! Keep an eye on Nabtha this year, I mean who doesn't want to cheer on the underdog, right?"
Glimmil steals a few moments to whisper into Skie's ear that he knows Nabthatoron personally, and - spoiler alert - it's the big guy from the Cauldron Five, Mister Finneas himself. He soft-elbows Skie and gives her a knowing nod.
Atol ends up looking like a demon headed for college. Dark red robes with the cuffs and hems cut like flames. The look is completed with a hat similar to a beret with horns sewn on it.
Dyrant looks similar to Atol, but without the beret. Instead, he has an iron chain belt with dull spikes. The tailor also offers Dyrant a matching spiked collar if he'd like it.
Dyrant scratches his armpit and facepalms at the sign of everyone's costumes. He then catches a whiff of his own hand and decides he might want to find time for a bath before the ball.
Dyrant does bathe and clean up nicely (as nicely as he can) before the ball, only somewhat miffed at the inappropriateness his costume.
He almost considers skipping it altogether (opting instead for do the work of St. Cuthbert in the streets), but, in the end, decides to attend. Since this is still festival time, he assumes that people are either too drunk or well fed to want to listen to his sermons tonight.
And he opt for the spiked collar.
About time someone gave me a badge of office.
He has his new haversack and all the goodies at his disposal therein.
* * *