The woman turns to the small-ish Grippli who smells faintly of dragonfly puree.
"Good question Bugdip. All of you really, good questions. The Jistkan Imperium is a long forgotten age of man. The Modanistic Archive contains the collective knowledge of the greatest minds of that time, and acquiring it has been an obsession of mine for quite some time.
"The Monadistic Archive specifically is a chest containing numerous magical scrolls. I believe they are currently inactive, but I know a ritual to access their secrets. In fact, I might need your assistance with that later. Until then, it’s best not to open it."
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I know better than to press a Venture-Captain once they have stated the mission, especially one that has clearly set out a need for urgency. This seems like something our group can handle, even without the diplomatic skills of Ifran or the watchful eyes of Regina and Amin.
"You have said all I need to hear, Venture-Captain. We will approach Murqual with utmost haste. We will keep you informed on our progress and bring any additional questions to you as they come up."
Glarifyur nods respectfully to Venture-Captain Yuul and turns to leave.
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"Well, everyone," Bugdip says with something of an air of authority, "I've been brushing up on my *ribbit* negotiating skills, so maybe this will go smoothly. I think we have all we need, so shall we cower like tarantulas in their lairs or shall we go meet this person and demand a fair price?" Hardly the rousing speech...
... but it has quite the effect!
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"Thank you for all the information, Venture-Captain Wulessa Yuul," Edgar says, finally raising his voice above the others. "We will do everything in our power to secure the Monadistic Archive..."
"But one additional question, if I may?" he ponders, hoping she will allow one final question. "Is the society's involvement in procuring the Monadistic Archive to remain a secret? Or does Palhuna Murqual, or others throughout the city, already know we desire it?"
"No, unlike other missions you have either no doubt been on, or soon will be assigned, there is no reason to keep the society's involvement a secret. Murqual couldn't care less who buys the Monadistic Archive from him, as long as he can sell it for a profit. If he is indeed already attempting to sell it to someone else though, you may need to find other ways to convince him you are the best customer to make the purchase."
The venture captain walks over to an ornate chest on a shelf next to her desk. She pulls a key from seemingly thin air and unlocks the chest, retrieving a slip of paper.
"The reason you may need to use other skills to convince him is this. This is a promissory note for 10,000 gold. It is all I have to spare to make this purchase. It is also why you must go. Murqual is no dummy, and would easily sense my desperation to purchase the Archive. I am also not dumb enough to put myself in such a disadvantageous bargaining position."
She hands the promissory note to the inspiring Bugdip with a look that means, Keep it safe and brooks no argument.
"If that is all, you best get down to the Nightstalls. That market is infamous for many reasons. Be careful."
Finding Murqual’s shop is easy enough. A few discreet inquiries lead through the Lower City to a wooden door crowned by a plaque that reads Palhuna Murqual, Vendor of Fetters, Bindings, and Cages Mundane and Mystic.
His establishment defies the stereotype for a shop in the infamous Nightstalls. It boasts a permanent location, instead of one that could be broken down and moved with ease. It is quite lavishly appointed, rather than being a shadowy, smoky hovel, and the air smells of vanilla and cardamom rather than incense. Inside, deep carpeting covers the floor. Chains and shackles, ranging in size from mist-thin links to cuffs that would hold a titan, hang along one wall. Another wall holds an array of mirrors— some reflecting the room and some showing the insides of a bare cell. Lanterns and cages hang from ceiling rafters, and glass cases hold etched gemstones and glass bottles. A central space is cleared of wares, instead sporting several plush seats arranged around a silver samovar.
An obese man swaddled in silks occupies a sofa before the samovar. Standing to his left is a slim, younger man holding a ledger. The fat man makes a series of complicated hand gestures to the standing man, who, after a moment, bows to the PCs and speaks. “My esteemed master, Palhuna Murqual, bids you welcome. Please, be seated. Business should be conducted comfortably.”
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As the group enters the establishment, Vorathan takes a moment upon first entering to take it all in. The air has a sweeter smell compared to the street from which they just came.
I swear, this smell is much like the home of the Fischer lass from about 3 summers ago, she always loved vanilla, took forever to get the smell out of my clothes.
The chains and cages drew certain attention; the warm feeling is starting to fade. As the slim man speaks and addresses the group, Vorathan takes a seat near the center directly across from the larger man.
"Thank you for your warm invitation, this is quite a remarkable establishment."
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Glarifyur is a bit more wary than even he is usually as he and his companions enter the building. The shackles hanging on the wall give him a distinct feeling of paranoia; which is somewhat subdued by the multiple images of him and his party reflected in the opposite wall.
Mirrors... all we are missing is the smoke. Murqual would not hold a meeting like this with six armed agents without his defenses and tricks. I need to be on my guard
Playing the role of bodyguard, Glarifyur tucks away his holy symbol and takes up a standing position beside the seating area designated for his coterie. He stands in an open stance facing the samovar with his shield held in front of his legs and torso. His waraxe remains bound and bounces harmlessly against his left leg, but the fingers of his gauntleted left hand, hidden behind the shield, instinctively brush against the pommel of the short sword on his right hip.
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Walking in to the establishments with the other Pathfinders, Nugats bends down and places both palms face down upon the floor. Closing his eyes and pressing his hands downward, he tries to regulate his breathing. The others can see his lips moving in wordless motions, but cannot make out what he is saying.
Pushing to his feet, Nugats takes in the mirrors and shackles.
"Kinky. I like it."
He makes his way in and flops onto the couch, half-lounging and scratching a trouble spot on his belly. "You got any grub? Something sugary? Feeling a bit under the weather after all those ales and not sure if that god forsaken snake didn't have at least some poison."
"So what is your name big guy? I'm Nugats. Care to roll some dice?
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Just for your reference, you won't need to roll for things like perception or sense motive. I like to roll those off screen. The idea is if you see that you rolled a nat 1 on a sense motive, you add the player know you missed something. If I roll it for you and you never even know I rolled, you never know you missed anything. It can really add to the experience.
in other words, you don't need to explicitly state that you are on guard or searching for things. If there is something to find, I will automatically give you a chance to find it, even if you don't realize. This gives you a chance to focus on your communication and interactions with each other and the npcs
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With steady steps, Tybain walks in front of the others into Murqual's shop. His shield rests easy on his side, but the arm carrying it is ready to bring it to defense should the need arise. But all seems to be safe now. Upon receiving the welcome from the merchant and his servant, Tybain responds with a gracious bow - in his own theatrical manner as always. Just like Glarifyr, the masked man assumes the role of a bodyguard. He steps aside, letting the more talkative members of the party take their seats on the sofa.
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"Wow, this place smells..." Bugdip takes a heady sniff, "Masked. There is a scent beneath all the perfumes that I just can't place. Is it... it's... hmmm... poop? I think so. Yes. Unmistakably."
Satisfied that he managed to figure out the scent mystery, Bugdip shadows Glarifyur as he paces around the room. Before long, he realizes that he is also mimicking the dwarf's movements. "Oh, dear... erm, Вульвы," he apologizes, bowing deeply, before seating himself.
For whatever reason, the grippli can't seem to get comfortable. He lies on his back at first, before flailing his way out of the cushion and trying to sit down again. He keeps finding himself falling backwards, and every now and again leaps out of the seat, staring back at it as though betrayed. Eventually, he settles upon simply standing casually by the door. However, the poor grippli has forgotten how to be casual. The harder he tries, the more uncomfortable and tense he looks.
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"Thank you for seeing us and for such accommodations," Edgar says, looking toward the couches in response to the man's words about making sure to be comfortable while conducting business. The youth then looks to the chains and shackles lining the walls, and cannot help but think how ironic the word 'comfortably' was used.
Turning from the man speaking, toward the the rather large, rotund man on the couches, Rattus bows graciously, much like his friends, then takes a seat on an opposite couch from their host. "You are Palhuna Murqual, I presume?"
Seeming to bypass his companions choice of words, the youth continues on. "We are very pleased that you were gracious enough to allow time to meet with us. There is much we would like to discuss with you, Master Murqual."
At Nugat's request, the obese man waves his arms emphatically and another servant comes out with a tray of mint tea and some cookies. He makes eye contact with each of the standing pathfinders, imploring them silently to sit down, but giving up eventually when they politely decline the offer.
He raises a single eyebrow at the Grippli, wincing slightly at the awkwardness of it all before turning back to the thin man. He swirls his hands and fingers in complicated gestures, mouthing unintelligable words with no aural accompanyment beyond the slapping of his flabby arms on his equally flabby boddy.
"Ah yes. You are most welcome young man. My master wishes for you to tell him why you have come to his most excellent shop, and what business we might be able to conduct. We have many excellent wares, and only the finest of restraining devices, both magical and mundane."
The fat man leans forward with a smile, rubbing his chubbly little fingers together.
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The youth looks only at the flabby, rotund gentleman as his worker conveys his unspoken words to the group.
"Of course, Master Murqual," Edgar says, sitting forward so as to balance on the edge of the couch. His eyes are still locked on Palhuna Murqual. "We know of your fine wares and restraining devices, however, we only wish to procure from you one particular item in your possession."
"It has come to our attention that you the keeper of an item known as the Monadistic Archive, and we wish to conduct business with you in order that we might obtain it," he says seriously.
"You are obviously a shrewd business man, so we would like to discuss terms, payment or otherwise, for such a transaction that would be most beneficial for both parties."
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As the group of adventurers settle into the "comfortable" positions around the samovar, Vorathan tries to not draw too much attention to the Grippli floundering in his seat.
What is the problem with his seat?! It would seem he's been taking more Dwarven lessons from our scarfed friend...monkey sandwich..that was priceless. Maybe we can make a seat belt for him if he can't get settled.
"We understand you're in the business to make money and by the looks of this elegant storefront, business is good. We would like to make an offer on this Archieve of 8,000 gold."
While Vorathan makes this initial offer he settles back into his couch and takes a relaxed position hoping not to seem too desperate in need of acquiring this mission critical item.
As a business negotiator I'm sure he won't take the first offer, at least I hope not, it could be difficult explaining the other 2,000 on the promissory note...but if he will settle on 10,000, maybe he will feel like he is getting a good deal.
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"Woah woah woah woooooah! Flappy, give your hands a rest there. Our newest member is a bit green around the ears. Not like our froggy friend who is a lot green ... well everywhere." Nugats calls to the slim interpreter.
"He meant to say that we are interested in this Monadistic Archive and would like to know how much your master would be willing to let it go for?"
Murqual and his servant both begin to cough unexpectedly when Vorathan makes his initial offer.
More hand gestures and intricate sign language follow while the thin man watches carefully. Eventually he turns to the gathered group and speaks. "Well if you must know... Ah, what is your name young man?" He directs his question to Vorathan. "My master is already entertaining an offer that far exceeds your... smaller one." The thin man lets out a restrained "Hmmmm" through a thin smile.
"I know you aren't foolish enough to travel these streets with the kind of coin you would need to make this purchase, so let's see that note then?"
Murqual rubs his hands together, holding them out to inspect the promissory note the pathfinders were given.
While the obese man holds his hands out expectantly, the thin man continues, first directing his gaze at the gnome fiery dwarf scratching his belly and lounging on the couch. "You see, when operating a business such as this, you don't get to where my master is without being very careful not to show favor to one customer over another, at least not without an equal favor in return." Both men turn their gaze on to Rattus, sensing from his subtle hint just moments ago that they might be on the same page.
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"Then, I believe, we are certainly speaking the same language," Rattus says, holding out an arm motioning for his companions to hold off passing the promissory note to Palhuna Murqual just yet.
Turning to face the obese man, the youth glares at their host with a rakish smile, though it goes unseen beneath the folds of his wrapped scarf, yet his blazing eyes manage to convey the presence of this devilish grin all the same.
"You'll pardon us for not tipping our hand just yet," he continues on with a jolly troublemaking tone lacing his words. "We possess a very diverse and particular skill set, that some may find useful... And that could prove to be more valuable than mere coppers or gold."
"Would you have need for such a skill set?"
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"Төзімділік, бостандығын шектеуге жазаланады. Уақыт, Vorathan келіссөздерге дұрыс болады ..." Glarifyur mutters quietly to Vorathan.
Glarifyur shuffles his feet to rebalance his stance, rolls his neck to a loud crack, and waits for the spokesmen to finish their dealings.
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"Show you the note?!" balks Bugdip, "Ha! That's a good one. First, the note does not have the maximum amount we are able to pay, but neither is it necessarily an amount that is reasonable - it could be more than a reasonable amount, and we only want to pay a reasonable price, as I'm sure you understand. You say you have another buyer, and that may be true... but we know for a fact that you made a mistake in acquiring this item and want to get rid of it. I wonder if your other buyer knows this also... and is trying to exploit it. I wonder why your master hasn't already accepted the offer, if it exceeds ours by such a high amount."
Bugdip wanders over and snatches a fly from the air right in front of their host. His tongue snaps back into his mouth and he allows a froggy, wide-mouthed grin to appear on his face. "I tell you what, you show us the receipt for how much you paid for the item, and we'll figure out a way to reimburse you a fair price for it. We may even show you the promissory note as a sign of good faith... after you show us your receipt and ledger.
"Otherwise, we can both play our cards closer to our chests. So, what do you say, is 8,000gp reasonable? I'm willing to bet it is very close to the amount you paid."
None, not even Bugdip, know where his sudden negotiating skills have come from.
The rotund man grabs his belly and tips his head back so far as to look behind him in what would be a monstrous belly laugh, if for the disconcerting detail that no sound comes from his mouth. His face turns red as he continues to laugh and his eyes rim with moisture.
The strange sound of air escaping in stacatto'd fits punctuated by a deep breath in is unnerving in the relatively quiet room. Eventually Murqual catches his breath while his thin servant gives him a strange look out of the corner of his eye.
Turning back to the thin man, he begins to gesticulate again in a series of complicated gestures.
"My master says he quite likes you, Mr. Grippli. You are his new favorite customer. Or at least he hopes you will become his new favorite customer. He is not so foolish as to show you what he paid for the item you request, because that simply doesn't matter. You have won his favor, and so he has decided to share with you that his other suitor is willing to pay 10,000 gold for the Monadistic Archive. However, your colorful scarved friend has made an excellent point, and so it is settled!" At the moment the thin man declares this, Murqual claps his hands together in a resounding and sudden motion, then proceeds to rub them together as if getting them warm for some delicate task.
"If you can match the 10,000 gold price and do a few favors for me, then we have a most excellent deal. There are.. ahhh... three in particular that my master has in mind that would most certainly tip the scales in your favor." The thin man's smile takes up nearly his whole face, and the fat man looks at each pathfinder, his eyebrows bouncing up and down in excitement at the deal made.
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"10,000gp is, I suppose, within reason. As for the favors, though... 'Aah' three? You mean, 'around three'?" asks Bugdip, sauntering up to the Murqual, "My, that is an interesting way you communicate with your master. I take it you can hear me in there, sir." Bugdip appears to look past Murqal to whoever might be pulling his puppet strings.
"Surely, we need not perform that many tasks. Perhaps you should give us the list of tasks that you would like to have done, and we can discuss together which we would be most willing to do and weigh that against those which you would most like for us to do.
"Three favors seems a little much, one seems much more reasonable ... unless you would like to keep the price at 8,000gp. 1,000gp per favor seems about right," Bugdip makes a show of counting on his fingers as though adding up the value of a favor, "And 11,000gp is more than your other buyer is offering."
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"Aye, Bugdip," the youth says, nodding to the grippli in agreement. Turning back to their host, Edgar adds an additional thought. "Let's say we agree on 10,000 gold pieces, which matches your current offer..."
Waiting a moment, the youth collects his words, letting a strategic argument form in his mind.
"If two alternatives are exactly identical," he starts. "Then any value that is added to one alternative, no matter how small, by definition makes the choice no longer equal. As such, if we were to pay ten thousand gold pieces, exactly equal to the deal with your previous client, then us providing one task would make our deal with you the better of the two."
"Or, alternatively," he adds one final thought. "A cheaper base price, but having us perform all three tasks, would also provide you with a better deal."
"I can assure you, we are simply looking for a deal that is best for both of us..."
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The haggling "bug" has seem to have been caught by our web footed friend as Vorathan intently listens to the bartering between the group and the mysterious merchant.
It would seem this business man has played just as I predicted and good on Bugdip to jump on the lead...the time for bargaining is at hand
"It would make sense for you to take advantage of our skills as well as monetary value we offer, since profit is the road to success. I think it only fair for us to at least match your current gold offer of 10,000 and let us perform the 1 task you wish to have completed the most. I then further suggest before us paying or showing any promissory notes, we first complete this take, for if we fail, little reason to hand over the gold as well. Plus that will give us chance to get the proper amount on the promissory note to provide to you. Although..."
As Vorathan pauses his bartering starts to get the better of him, he takes a moment and remembers what Glarifyur spoke silently in Dwarven to him. His hesitation bring about a change in course.
"Well now that I think about that, a business man like your self probably wouldn't be interested in another idea for payment, you have enough to consider at this time so what say you master merchant?"
The fat merchant stomps his feet and claps his hands, his three chins tucked into his fat belly as he laughs with no sound, but plenty of visual demonstration.
Once again, he fiddles his fingers and swirls his arms, continuing his sign language to the thin man standing next to him.
The thin man watches intently, then translates. "My master says you must come back. He calls you his favorite frog friend forever. FFFF. Why he might actually be able to make his teeth and lips make that sound, and even that pleases him greatly. You have touched his heart and entertained him greatly, and so the deal is done. 10,000gp and two favors. No more, no less."
The thin servant stops for a moment, turning to Murqual while he continues to sign in intricate patterns. Eventually he stops, and the thin man turns back to the gathered group. “I have three tasks. Because Palhuna Murqual is as generous as an oasis, you may decide among them for those which suit you.” He begins to count off tasks on his fingers. “I have some sensitive merchandise being delivered by problematic dealers. Another recent acquisition has some unpleasant protective magic that I need dealt with. Finally, you can be my agents to make a purchase from another acquaintance.”
"Go ahead and ask Murqual your questions, and he will answer all of your concerns. Once you are done, the Archive will be yours." Both the men turn their eyes to the silver tounged man, apparently dismissing his hints at something greater.
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"What protective magic exists on your recent acquisition? Can you be more specific? And we specialize in problematic dealers; Just ask the Aspis Consortium... perhaps that would be a mission aligned with our specific skillset."
After standing still as a stalagmite in a cave for the majority of this debate, Glarifyur's sudden statement seems to come from a different place entirely. It's as if a patron across the tavern added in his thoughts to a conversation not meant for him. He shifts his feet once more and, after thinking about the last mission with the run-in against Aspis, instinctively rubs the scar over his lip where his beard does not quite grow properly anymore.
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Wanting to pose up as a man of a very valuable skillset, Tybain glances to the nearest mirror to check his looks. But the reflection in the mirror horrifies him. He stares at the image for a longest time, not recognizing the person. He raises his hand to touch his face, but feels only the cold metal surface, instead of warm skin.
Who is this? Is this me? If so, then who am I?
His hand starts shaking, and he removes the fingers from his mask. The fingers close into a fist, but the hand keeps shaking. Shards of memories strike him painfully, images of the stage, of the fire and magic, and of pain. The glenched fist shakes, and is just about to smash the mirror into pieces when the sound of clapping hands awaken Tybain from his mesmerized daydreaming.
His mind back in the merchant's shop, he sees Murqual wobbling in voiceless laughter. Apparently the negotiation is over, and their note of ten thousand pieces of gold accepted. With terms, it seems.
"No magic!" he shouts instinctively, immediately after the servant has listed the choice of tasks. His voice still gets the metallic resonance, being spoken behind the mask. But now the words are clear, and spoken without difficulty. "We'll do the other two. You want merchandise to be delivered and purchased. What is the nature of the items?"
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Bugdip seems quite taken aback by both the vehemence in Tybain's words and the clarity with which the man is able to muster them.
"Well," Bugdip bows deeply at Murqual, ignoring his servant as before, "It looks like our two missions are decided then, glorious Murk-Well. Why don't you tell us what the problem is with these dealers, and what merchandise needs to go where? I must say I wouldn't mind honing my negotiating skills further, so seeing this acquaintance of yours sounds fine. Just let us know who it is, what you want and how little you want to pay for it!"
The grippli seems positively excited at the prospect of helping out and does a little leap to the side as he talks.
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Well that went well. Smooth as a rusty blade in the innards.
Munching on food through out most of the negotiations, Nugats uses the time to try and figure out just how heavy the man is.
Multiple rolls, waist about two and a half spans, standing can't be much taller than the frog.
"What if I guess our patron's weight? Only one task? Thought not. None of these task really sounds that great.
We are as good at using magic as Murqual is at saying 'No' at the sweets table.
Any dwarfs associated in these tasks? Gambling?"
Nugats continues to sit on the couch in indifference.
Murqual rubs his hands together again and taps the thin man on the shoulder. He continues his emphatic sign language, the awkward sound of his fat rolls slapping against his body as he reclines in the opulent seat. When he is finished, he smiles at the pathfinders and the thin man translates for him.
"First things first. The delivery. My master has some special goods being shipped in from the savanna tonight. He is short on staff to take the delivery, and doesn’t care to be seen meeting with the deliverers. They’re gnolls. It’s a social status issue; I’m sure you understand.”
The thin man clears his throat, looking down at the fat merchant as if confirming before he shares the next part.
"My master has had dealings with this tribe before. They tend to ‘forget’ the agreed upon price. You’ll be carrying some additional funds—I regard it as a standard tax when dealing with them—but beyond that, he expects you to convince them that they’re not getting any extra.”
As soon as the thin man finishes with that explanation, Murqual shifts his bulk forward again, holding two fingers in the air to emphatically state that this is the pathfinder's second option.
"If you aren't interested in dealing with the magical wards, I won't bother mentioning it. Your masked friend is right, its probably far beyond most people. Besides, since your... ah... dwarf friend here is so interested in gambling, I believe the purchase would be a most excellent choice for you, since you won't be doing all three." Once the thin man has finished qualifying his statement, he pauses to watch Murqual gesticulate and sign his way through the next bit of information to translate.
"An acquaintance of my master owns a mirror he would like. She isn’t willing to deal in gold for it, and her desired coin is not one he is quite willing to pay.”
The thin man brings his hands together, failing to mask his excitement at what he is about to say.
"Madame Jelaris is an alchemist trying to develop an equivalent of the sun orchid elixir. We don’t know if that is possible, but she has a means to alchemically extract vitality. Essentially, she can make one older. She claims the ‘years’ of life extracted are invaluable in her research. And she requires twenty years from me before relinquishing the mirror.” He pauses to allow the weight of his comment to sink in before continuing.
"That may sound terrifying, but you must know that twenty years of my master's life, all at once, is a price to dear for him to pay. But twenty years divided among you lot? It's a pittance really. Plus, Pulhuna Murqual has already said he is as generous as an oasis, and so he will share a secret with you. Madame Jelaris is an inveterate gambler. If you wager the years, you might walk away paying nothing! Or paying twice as much. If you do that, a word of advice: don’t cheat. Or at least don’t get caught cheating.”
The thin man and the fat man both clap their hands simultaneously again, as if there needs to be no more conversation. He conveniently leaves out any details of the task regarding the magical wards, assuming that the group assembled before him has no interest in that task.
"So you know now what you must do? Everything set? My master cannot wait to complete this sale. He is most excited to be doing business with you."
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"Sounds straightforward enough. Be back in no time." Nugats rolls off the couch and walks over to Vorathan.
"So the skinny guy and the fat guy said not to cheat. Between you and me..."
Nugats continues to talk to the daring human in hushed tones as they exit the shoppe.
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Years off our lives... Bah!! Where is an elf when you need one!?
"So let's go play delivery boy and get this deal done!"
Glarifyur, uncomfortably warm in all this armor even with his father's fur lining trick, begins to feel a bit claustrophobic in this parlor, and is anxious to leave. He slings his shield up over his shoulder and nods respectfully to Murqual before turning on his heel and preparing to make his way towards the exit.
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The thought of losing years so quickly from an already short life expectancy as a pathfinder causes a shiver to crawl up Edgar's spine, but he manages to suppress a visible shudder. "We will have these tasks completed as quickly as we are able, Master Murqual," the youth says, bowing slightly to the large, rotund man.
"Though... gambling away our very lives for you," he adds, rising from his act of deference. "It would seem you drive a very hard bargain."
As the others leave the shop Edgar steps close to Nugats and Vorathan. "I think the time for you two to shine is at hand," he laughs a little as they continue on. "Please don't make me become an old man having spent far too short a time as a young one."
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Whoa! I thought they said Tybain was a mute!? Guess that show his disdain for magic if it can reinstate his voice!
Vorathan thinks to himself in quiet satisfaction with how this deal seems to be coming together...that is until the part when the larger gent mentions trading years for goods.
I know I didn't hear that right! This morbid merchant just requested we trade our years of life for his personal gain!!! I've only been on this realm for nearly two decades, it's not like I'm a time favored race who has potentially centuries before him. Think of all the women who I could possibly enjoy, lost to a bulging buffoon in a trade...there must be another way.
Luckily for Vorathan, his ears tuned back into the assistants word as he mentioned the gambling tendencies of the life drainer. This brought a ray of hope back to the under 20 year old. Almost as if he could sense Vorathan's nerves, Nugats whispers his words of wisdom to Vorathan, bringing a smile to his face. They both head out of the shop faced with a purpose and a plan to succeed.
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Bugdip seems very nervous. He knows how much Nugats and Vorathan enjoyed the gambling back in the tavern.
"Шетелдік ештеңе балық емес," he cautions in dwarven, trying his best to say don't do anything stupid.
To Murqual, Bugdip bows and then raises his head in that strange, clicking, voiceless laugh. "It has been a pleasure trading with you. I believe you have the better of the deal by far. Perhaps when we return, you can teach me the finer points of your trading technique...."
"Anyone speak gnollish?" the grippli asks, becoming nervous once more.
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Once outside in the street, Vorathan turns to Bugdip:
"Your Dwarven is coming along, here's a few things to try in causal conversation."
The two talk back and forth until Vorathan signals Nugats to join in the conversation.
"You know Nugats," Vorathan says in a hushed voice to make certain he's not overheard by nearby listeners, "I remember a tale my great Uncle Terri told me long ago, he was the one who introduced me into the world of dice and games of chance. He warned me to be careful not to lose my honor in a cheat. Most times Cayden and Desna, if honored properly, provide with no need to cheat. And I have found this to be true in many fine conquest, but he did say if I ever have to cheat, make sure is a matter of life and death, for to cheat death is the ultimate gamble. He told me of a old gambler who never cheat in his life but then had to over a matter most dire and there was a trick he used to ensure his cheat not to be reviled. The wise old man would not play his trick, wining some, losing some, but then his loses were near total. That is when he sprung his trick in a bet that was too good to pass up and on that round, after establishing his fairness in play, he then willed his fortune made, thus sparing his life and those he loved. I'm not telling you how to play, but this is how I have made my career and plan to keep to the course. With your "abilities" we may fair well in this adventure, that is if your items are allowed to be used, kinda hard to stack the house deck if you know what I mean."
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"A price paid in years? How odd. But what is time to those, whose lives are claimed by bolts and blades, far away from the end of their years. We accept, and return triumphant! Fare thee well, master merchant!" The speech, spoken like to an audience, finishes with a deep bow combined with a retreat from the shop. Whatever it was that unblocked his speech, didn't reduce his theatrical habits.
"Anyone speak gnollish?" the grippli asks, becoming nervous once more.
”I do. As long as the gnolls speak the finest language of creation - Taldan. And if they don’t, we’ll teach them! We will do fine, my small frog-faced friend!”