5 Rova, 4711 AR, in Varisia...
Wartle’s only tavern and trading post, the Lean-To, has been surprisingly active tonight. Normally half-filled this time of year with trappers and furriers from the Mushfens to the South downing tankards of a cheap, foul, watered down, locally brewed ale that tastes of stale piss known as Bog Grog, travellers from all walks of life seem to be swelling it to bursting (which honestly isn’t saying very much, given its modest size). Traffic through Varisia’s countryside has been unseasonably high. Amid the rabble is a well dressed merchant obviously scanning the crowd, his nose wrinkled in distaste as he sits alone at an old round table in the far corner, its many seats remaining vacant. He impatiently checks a timepiece from his breast pocket, an expensive curio to show in these parts, especially given the wenches and rat faced sneak thieves obviously eying the trinket, and if possible his demeanor grows even darker as he takes a deep swig from his hip flask. Leaning back, he fumbles for a small travellers’ chest with a thick lock on it beneath his chair without looking, and for a moment his eyes widen in alarm until his flailing fingers find the parcel and he visibly relaxes. With his close cropped, dark hair, portly frame, and obvious Chelish ancestry, he’d stand out in a backwater Varisian township even without his garish garb.
You briefly lock eyes across the room, and for the shortest moment you see the gentleman’s gaze linger as he takes stock of you and motions you to join him with a casual yet firm wave of his hand, before gesturing to the barmaid to bring a round of ale for you. Over the next several moments he repeat this process several times, until half a dozen of so have been signaled. Casting about you can see the others he is summoning appear to be able bodied travellers, most with obvious weapons or even armor as though they may have only just arrived this day and stepped inside for a reprieve from the swamp mosquitoes. Winding through the drunkards and gamblers of the Lean-To to better see the lavishly attired Chelexian, you notice that on the tabletop before him is a parchment, covered in ornate scrawl, with a rather ostentatious seal of crimson at the bottom, beside it a fat sack of coin.
The waitress slides around you with a forced smile carrying a hefty tray of drinks and sets six foaming mugs before the empty seats around the merchant’s table. He sighs impatiently and fishes a couple of gold coins of Korvosan mint out of the leather purse and flips them to here with a grace belied by his appearance, shooing her away with a glare shortly afterward as he rhythmically raps his fingers on the tabletop, waiting.
Seltyn motions to the others he's been drinking with, noting that the dwarf is a bit of a wreck. Let's go see what he wants...
He approaches the man, and introduces himself.
Seltyn Sevenleaf, at your service. These folks are drinking with me, though we're not best friends. If you'd like to talk to us, frankly, I really have nothing better to do. What's with all this gold? Aren't you worried it could get stolen?
Iriesys casts detect magic before approaching.
"Awful nice of you to offer drinks to strangers."
After a few moments, she continues speaking."Oh, wait. I guess I can't really say much on that subject."
"In any case, I'm Iriesys, and I've probably already had too much to drink, but another never hurt." Ending the sentence with a wink.
Beestinger sits in a corner quietly, sipping some watered down ale and pondering his prospects of finding a competent adventuring group, preferably one looking for dragons after some suitable test runs and practice, his clothes dark enough he blends into the corner quite well. His initial attempt didn't work well, and half the group found out the hard way that wyverns are indeed part of the dragon family. After that debacle, he politely parted ways at the closest town, and has been eying prospective associates for a week or so now. Seeing the gaze of the nobleman, he decides to check it out, despite the initial distaste for dealing with a Cheliaxian.
The man nods and shifts in his seat, back rigid, as Seltyn approaches and makes bit of a show of dusting off his silk waistcoat before tenting his fingers and tapping them to his chin. "Hardly, sir elf," he responds to the evoker's inquiry. "This coin is meant to be spent- not that any thief could wrest it from my grasp." The man pauses to give another courtly nod to Iresys as she approaches seconds later. "I like to lead with generosity," the man responds dryly, toward Iriesys. "My name is Gordrenn Winthrop. I'm a Purveyor of magical paraphernalia, material neccessities, and related items to many wizards of note around Magnimar and her colonies," he introduces himself rather pompously.
"I must admit that I'm in a bit of a bind. My usual couriers in the Harenshire have run off on me and I'm to have a chest full of material components delivered to a mage known as Tauster in Galduria in the very near future-"
"-so I'm looking for an armed and capable escort to make sure that the parcel arrives on time. The package doesn't contain any individual item that is all that valuable or time sensitive, but my customers demand punctuality and I'm afraid that Tauster can get very huffy and demand discounts if his shipment is ever even a day late. If you are interested, once all of the other potential canidates for the job are seated we can discuss terms and payments."
"Well, this certainly seems like it could be interesting, and profitable to all parties involved."
Iriesys takes the seat nearest the man.
Why, sir! I was his apprentice! I know him well, and can have your parcels to him as fast as anyone. I lived there, after all! If anyone can get there from here, it's me!
"What luck, sir!" Gordrenn responds with an exagerated yet friendly enthusiasm. His demeanor takes a warmer tone as he learns that he is in the presence of someone very near to a client. This he does little to hide. "By chance running into you here our proceedings may be finished that much faster. And yes, miss," he responds to Iriesys, "quite profitable...erm- for the level of work involved. It is a simple delivery from here to Galduria after all, and I don't expect any trouble, though banditry isn't uncommon. But I try to dissuade that with a capable looking group of couriers, obviously."
"If I may ask, why exactly did your usual couriers run off?" Beestinger asks quietly as he appraises his fellow adventurers. You see nothing obvious about him that suggests he is capable of the task, but there is an aura of confidence that is unmistakable.
"I don't really know, I'm afraid. They were to meet me here in Wartle on the 1st of every month, but were a no show this time. I believe they fancied themselves as adventurers who only did my deliveries on the side when work was light. Perhaps they've moved onto bigger and better things, like the Pathfinder Society, or maybe they got in over their head. In any event I wasn't close to them by any definition of the word and didn't have any merchandise with them, so their absence this week simply means that our transactions are complete. Varisia's a dangerous frontier, people go missing quite often, and with nobody reporting any particular trouble from the Harenshire it doesn't look like the locals are up in arms to discover what happened to them," the wealthy merchant replies in a matter-of-fact tone.
Dreadan had been standing at the bar for the last hour still nursing his first ale. I never thought I would find something that tasted worse than the piss they gave us in the slave pits. This was a bad idea. I should not have came, I don't fit in here, I stick out like an elf fancy boy walking the streets in Blisterwell.
He manages to finish his ale, leaving his copper on the bar when he notices the well dressed human motioning to him. Strange, why would someone like that want me to come to his table?
Dreadan manuvers across the floor noticing the others that have gathered at the man's table. Strange lot. Must need someone murdered.
He stands, listening to the man pitch his job then looks at the others.
"I need gold human. You need your package delivered and protected. Sounds like you just hired me." Dreadan turns a chair around and sits with its back in front of his chest.
He stands, listening to the man pitch his job then looks at the others.
"I need gold human. You need your package delivered and protected. Sounds like you just hired me." Dreadan turns a chair around and sits with its back in front of his chest.
See? That makes two of us, right there. We'll have it to Tauster quick as you please!
Seltyn tries to look convincing, but confidence has never been his strong suit. He smiles weakly, looking a little nervous next to the half orc he barely knows.
Gordrenn raises an eyebrow as he smirks a little bit at the eagerness of large warrior before him. It is rare for a Chelixian a noble birth to overlook what they would consider a glaring flaw in one's character being blooded of orcs, but the merchant seems to take Dreadan very seriously, eyeing the man carefully. "I must admite to admiring your spirit," it isn't lost on anyone that your potential patron declined the use of a formality when speaking to the latest arrival to the table, but there is little if any derision in his tone. "Yet, but still a couple mugs remain without imbibers, and to demoralize would-be highwaymen I usually require a party of six, or at minimum five. It matters not your prowess when defending yourselves and my property if there are more arrows headed toward you than bodies to soak them. Still I can see that employing you should be coin well spent."
Iriesys puts her arm around his shoulders, and seems to be looking at the chest. Seemingly tipsy, she asks "So what's this thingy here? Looks important, the way it's glowin' like that."
Whatever his reaction, she'll soon remember that she's looking for magic auras, and that's the reason that it's glowing, not necessarily that it's important.
With a start, Borgorin opens his eyes and realizes he is at the table alone. Looking around blearily, he notices the majority of them seem to have gathered around some table. He arrives in time to hear most of the proposition but being a dwarf, and in back, he's not noticed by, nor himself got a good look at, the man doing most of the speaking. So he has remained where he was at the back of the small crowd, well, until now that is.
Not roughly but at the same time not taking any of the due caution that polite consideration would, one would think at least, demand, the drunk old dwarf pushes his way though his companions till he gets to the front
"Jush' a minute! I knowed I recognizhed tha' acchent! Yer a damn Chelaxian! Why n' hell should we trus you! Ye devil buggerers ain't nothin' but trouble! I'll not let me young friend's get themselves intae some kind o' fiendish mischief workin' wit the likes o' ye!"
Staggering slightly for a moment as as he puts out his arms, as if to hold back the others from the man in front of him, Bogorian glares at the stranger. Then two things seem to click in his dwarven brain. First, he notices the round of unclaimed drinks on the table. Next, he notices the sack of coins and recalls hearing something about payment and 'profitable'. Crossing his arms without missing a beat he asks "Ah, how much gold exacly die ye say ye was willin' tae pay?"
The more the merrier, right? Seltyn says, trying hard to not lose the deal. Just think of the arrows WE could all soak up! Err... together, I mean!
He figures the deal is dead, and tries to keep Bogorin from passing out on the table, again smiling weakly, looking from one drunk companion to the other.
Beestinger just shakes his head at the drunken dwarf. "I don't know about you, but I don't think that soaking up attacks is much fun. It's much more fun to be the attacker, not to mention you tend to live longer."
And a halfling! See? Look how small he is! No archer could hit him! We'd make it for sure!
"Perhaps I should have started my search earlier in the evening," Gordrenn comments dryly as he glances back and forth between the inebriated dwarf and elf. "Glowing...? What are you- oh. Yes," the merchant continues as if he suddenly understand. "That, good maiden, would be the parcel in question. And to you it is likely glowing because it is magically sealed and contains a couple wizard marks. One for me to find it, should it go missing, and one to ensure that whoever steals it never gets to use their ill begotten gains." He turns his attention to Bogorin. I think that you'll find though I'm Chelixian in heritage I'm far removed the type you're considering. I assure you that no magic I have ever woven has involved the slightest hint of diabolic intent nor do I cater to the casters who are of those proclivities. It is far too dangerous and honestly rather abhorrent to deal in such affairs, and I'm not one to be caught with a vial of devil's blood. And as far as the matter of trust goes, you won't have to. If you accept my proposition I'll hand you the chest along with a contract signed by both you and I. Upon turning in the parcel to Tauster, he will countersign the agreement, and then you merely have to see an local money changer or magistrate to cash in the bill. Finally, the fee, will be sum of 300 gold coins, of whatever mint they grant you in Galduria. And that is total, not a piece. I should remind you that this is a quick and simple task," throughout the exchange Gordrenn never loses his composure, ever the polite businessman, and even chuckles a bit at the comments made by Seltyn and Beestinger. He seems to either highly underestimate the value of gold, or has been rich long enough that 300 of the coins is a mere drop in the bucket to the man.
"Well, that took care of those formalities on a time table that I wasn't quite expecting-" he pauses to straighten his jacket. "Interested? Questions?"
After a few moments straining to do some mental math, she says, "60 gold isn't bad. More'n I've had on me in quite some time."
Dreadan Moves his chair a bit closer to the table. "As I said human, I am hired. I might need a map though, I am new here."
Iriesys suddenly grabs a mug from among those untouched, and downs it, at the end removing any drippings and such from her chin with a rather sloppy casting of prestidigitation, or the earlier one, if it hadn't already worn out.
"You can count me in. You had me at... well, you." Iriesys gives a wink with her last comment.
Now that things have gotten serious, with an actual offer of Gold on the table Bogorin burps once then says "Jes a secon'"
He then mumbles something in his beard, makes a circle around his stomach and briefly touches his holy symbol. Instantly he seems to lose his weavyness, his head snaps up and his eyes, sharp and focused, bore down on the business man.
You may not be familiar with this well kept secret of an orsion among clerichood, particularly popular with adherents of Cayden Cailean, but Bogorin clearly has used some form of divine magic to make himself sober. Those more well researched may indeed heard of the spell Cleanse of Alcohol
Sitting down, he grabs a tankard and lifts it in a cheer to the Chelaxian. He waits though, to see if the other man raises his glass and takes a drink before taking his own. If the man did not do so, of course the deal would be off.
If Gordreen does indeed drink Bogorin continues. "300 hunren eh? Like the elf lass says that works out tae be only 60 gold each. That not be too much coin fer a man tae be riskin' his life fer. I heard ole' Inzeldren's been being a bit more forward' lately. Some folks aroun' 'ere is startn' tae get a wee bit concrend'. Perhaps yer ole' crew heard tha same n' felt 60 gold weren't enough. Ye wants yer package delivered son I figure me friends n' I kin get it done a'right. But yer gonna have tae cough up a site more gold then what ye first bin offern'." His gaze level, steely and serious, it seems the dwarf is literally trying to will gold out of the man.
Ridley wakes up on the floor as the chair she had curled up under is scooted out from it's table, and it's occupant, a rather anebriated dwarf, makes his way across the tavern. Shaking her head to clear the whiskey fumes, she staggers to her feet and begins the long, treatcherous zig zaging course to catch up.
She gets to the table fairly unnoticed, and picks up a mug of fermented camle urin...or rather, the ale here reminds her so much of the fermented cample urin she was drinking on the dig in Osirian she figures it's best to just tell herself it's more of the same...and quietly takes a seat. Listening to what the chel has to say, when he finishes she nods to him. "I'll be 'volved in this 'ittle venture o' yours. Not even gonna 'icker price with ya. There is 'ne thing I have to know 'irst though. Why is someone as pretty as you drinkin' at a dive like this, and second of all, my shoe fell off on the way over here, and I'm going to go get it." Hopping down before the question can be answered, Ridley retraces her steps to the table her and her group had gotten itno this whole pickle to begin with at, just before the wench there could finish clearing their mess.
"Scuze me miss, my friends and I are somewhere between fit shaced and drunk enough the dwarf's starting to make sense, and I'm the only one sombre enough to do something about it." She lays down a trio of gold coins on the table, careful not to miss the gyrating surface. "You would be doing us a right solid favor were you to get some food over to that table there with all the drunk people at it, once that chely guy heads out. I think we can play it straight tell he leaves, but he's asking us to do something or another, and if we're going to manage the job and get paid, we need to not be drunk this bloody..."
"Seems like a simple enough endeavor; count me in. All these drunks need someone to babysit them at night." Beestinger just shakes his head in wonder at how the others at his table are still functioning.
Fifty each. There are six of us, right? Well, that's still fifty more than I've got right now. Got another one of those sobering orisons, Bogorin? Sure could use it...
We can start tomorrow, Mr. Winthrop. Two elves, two halflings, a half orc and a dwarf. What could go wrong?
Seltyn realizes someone else should really do the talking.
Knowing his chances of getting more gold will continue to diminish if the over-eager elf keeps talking Borgorin turns around, quickly performs the same gestures and suddenly Seltyn feels completely sober, as if he had never had a drink at all. His back still to Gordreen, Borgorin whispers quietly, yet fiercely "Now be quiet lad! This be Gold we be talkin' 'bout! Let a dwarf do 'is bizness! N' tha spell's supposed tae be a secret!" before turning back around "Now don' be payin' no attention like tae me drunkin frien's 'ere. 'S only tha ale which be makin' 'em so willin' tae risk their lives fer so little, what wi' a fierce, ravenous dragon terrorizin tha area n' all. Come mornin' they'll be regrettin' their liquid bravr'y, I'm sure. Now where waz we? Didja say five hunren' then, fer the lot o' us? Tha best damn deliverers this side o' Osirian. Not like 'em cowards as what runned away from ya first sign o' 'danger. We'll git yer package deliverd right we will. So, got ourselves a deal do we?" putting on the best Dwarven hagglers grin he's got in his repertoire . Which, to be honest, is not all that pleasant to see.
You all now notice that Iriesys has fallen asleep where she was, with her arm around the man's shoulder. She seems to be snoring very lightly, although assuredly, the man can hear it very well, with her head so close to his.
Spellcraft
Gordrenn blushes a bit a Iriesys' last comment, but composes himself enough to respond to the others. First he looks to Dreadan. "I'm afraid I don't have with me a map of the Harenshire, but if you require one there are enough trappers in this hole that I'm sure one could be scrounged up. The quickest and safest route to Galduria is to follow the river North and then stick to the Western bank of Lake Ember, which will take you right to the town. If nothing else it seems that Tauster's apprentice himself is with us, so I'm sure he can find his way."
As the dwarf lifts his mug the well dressed merchant draws his hip flask once more and raises it with him in a show of diplomacy- he's obviously dealt with people of diverse backgrounds before and unfailingly follows polite protocol. However at the priest's words his expression sours a bit.
"I'm afraid I won't be pressed on the price. It is set firmly at 300 coins. Anymore and it would do my business better to simply miss the shipment. If you are that concerned, then I can give you each 5 gold now for expenses along the way, but not a copper more," he responds sternly. Once Ridley speaks up, he answers the inquiries for everyone else despite the capricious halfling darting off moments later. "I'm here because this is one of the few places to drink in this small community and 'tis one of the few places the destitute are sure to go. When work needs doing, the offering the poor a spot a coin is a surefire way to get things done, especially when you have a plan in place to protect whats rightfully yours."
The waitress nods and chuckles a bit at the halfling bard's request, and withint a few moments a couple of trays of spiced potatoes are delivered to the table along with a tall pitcher of water, slightly cloudy, but as clean as can be expected in a swamp town full of furriers. "If you could head out at first light to ensure that Tauster gets his parcel in time, it would be most excellent. And as I said, friend dwarf, 300 is my price, plus 5 gold a piece for expenses. I highly doubt that the dragon of the Harenshire will be overly interested in this," he pauses to draw the chest from beneath his seat and set it on the table, gently patting the lid for dramatic effect. It is perhaps 12" x 18" x 18", and looks to require only a bit of effort to lift. "And if you are concerned of dragons, perhaps the less valuables you carry on you the better, correct?" This man certainly is a shrewd businessman.
"You you accept these terms, then by all means, sign the contracts here, one for you to get countersigned and cashed, and one for my records, and I'll leave the article with you and be about my way. I doubt that I'll need you regular services, but if I do I'll be in touch to discuss terms once I've found out that the delivery was made in a timely manner."
Gordrenn ruffles the parchment on the tabletop and slides them in front of the group, sending ink and quill shortly after.
Coming back to the table in time for mention of dragons Ridley pauses for just a moment and loosing most of the color to her cheeks. A second only and she is back in her seat, apparantly unrufled. Tongue firmly clenched between her teeth she draws out her name on both sheets of parchment, a surprisingly fine signature for her apparent level of intoxication and required concentration. Gently setting the quill down, or handing it to the next of her group, she takes a second to admire her writing, before hoping down, jogging the bit to stand next to her newfound employer, noisily spitting into her hand and offering it to him. "The wizard's as good as caught." Blinking for a second she realizes the slip and quickly tries again. "The box is as good as delivered!"
"Did you mention 'dragon'? How big of a dragon are we talking about and what kind?" Beestinger's eyes light up at the key word in his vocabulary. "Don't worry, my new dwarven associate, I'm sure that the bandits who decide they want to play will be able to provide some coin in addition to what this good merchant can provide. I just hope that you all can shake off your drink as well as you can take it in." He signs the parchment and passes it around to the others.
"Right then. Sounds like we are all hired." Dreadan takes the paper, placing his mark where Gordrenn says.
"We will leave in the morning, hopfuly the alcohol will have left your systems by then."
Iriesys is woken by the movements of the employer.
"Sign this to do what now? Oh, right the job we were talkin' 'bout. Mkay, sounds fine to me."
Iriesys takes the quill and signs in large loopy letters, promptly returning to her place on Gordrenn's shoulder.
Seltyn signs, too.
I know where to go. I'll take this, and we'll keep it safe. We'll leave first thing in the morning.
He takes the box, and will let someone else grab the coin.
"Hmm, always know'd them Chelaxian's was a stingy bunch." the old dwarf mumbles mostly to himself. Still, he'd managed 30 extra gold for the group, which was nothing to sneeze at.
"Ok, ye got yerself a deal then Gordrenn. Where d'I sign?" putting down his signature in surprisingly fine handwriting for a dwarf Borgorin then promptly sticks out his palm, waiting for his pay "I'll be 'avin that 5 gold now. Or ye kin just give me tha 30 fer all o' us."
If the businessman chooses the later option, Bogorin will immediately then hand five gold to each of the other five adventures present, looking each in the eye and nodding as he does. He is always very particular and exact when it comes to Gold.
Upon Ridley signing and offering he hand, the merchant grimaces a bit and rises an eyebrow as if to say 'you have to be joking,', but not to be rude lightly shakes her hand, obviously already reaching for a handkerchief in a breast pocket with his other hand. It is an odd sight, to see a rich Chelixian businessman clasping hands with halfling, but if anything, Gordrenn has revealed his resolve to have the task at hand accomplished. After finishing he gesture he quickly wipes his hand clean.
"The dragon is a green one, big and at least 2 centuries old. She goes by the name of Inzeldren and has the the history in the Harenshire; there's always rumors to be stirred up about her. But from what I've been able to piece together, with the exception of a few isolated incidents she keeps to herself up North in the Churlwood," he replies quickly to Beestinger's inquiries. As he speaks he counts out gold coins from the fat sack on the table, putting them in neat stacks of 5 and sliding them 1 by 1 in front of the dwarf to distribute, putting the final stack firmly into his palm.
Although slightly jostled, Iriesys is mostly unmoved during the counting of the coins. It is apparent that she is not going to move unless forced.
"Hmm, sounds like that one will require some practice before approaching. I wonder if that wyvern is still around; it might make a good practice run to judge talent levels." Beestinger comments quietly, talking as much to himself as anybody else, as he takes the 5 gold.
After watching the businessman leave, Bogorin, very happy, as always, in having some shiny new gold in his palm, grins widely and says "Well! This should be some easy gold then! Ole' Inzeldren ain't bothered nutin' but some cows fer as long as I kin remember. But I ain't been up Galduria way fer some time though, 'ow's the land there abouts Seltyn? Figure is mostly bandits we'll 'ave to keep n' eye out fer, but them type 'as never bother'd me n' Grimsmash much." He says, patting his old and battered warhammer.
Then he frowns slightly as he notices another problem, that being his newly created sobriety. Picking up one of the extra beers, likely the one meant for Beestinger, and realizing he has the shiny solution in his hand calls over the serving lass and orders another round. Now, with gold, food, beer and new drinking companions his night is as near perfect as it can get. Sitting down and beginning to dig into the meal, he directs his words to the only one at the table completely unknown to him, the half-orc. "So, wat's yer name then? I don't norm'ly truck wi' yer kind if I kin help it but ye do be a big'un a'rit n' I fig'r some extra muscle on this 'ere mission ain't gunna hurt none."
As Gordrenn gets up Iriesys is awoken. "Are we hon dear?"
After he leaves, Iriesys finally calls it a night. "I'm gonna go prepare for my headache tomorrow. I'll see the rest o' ya tomorrow." She proceeds to go and get a room in the tavern.
Sounds good, guys. We can get whatever things we need in the morning and get started.
Seltyn will get a room, and hide the package under his bed, assuming there is one.
"So, wat's yer name then? I don't norm'ly truck wi' yer kind if I kin help it but ye do be a big'un a'rit n' I fig'r some extra muscle on this 'ere mission ain't gunna hurt none."
The half-orc takes his 5 gold and places it in his pouch, Then stands to his full hight of six and a half feet. "I am Dreadan Darlok dwarf. As humans say "It is a pleasure to make your aquaintance." I have never met a dwarf before, you are exactly as I pictured them. You may have my ale if you want. I have had better tasting black water strained though an old tunic." He holds his mug out to Bogorin and his lips part revealing his sharp and jagged teeth.
As Seltyn picks up the package Bogorian eyes him speculatively. The Elf seemed like a good enough sort but he didn't look all that stout a sort to defend himself. And, after all, Bogorin did not know him too well and that package and it's safe delivery represented another 50 gold to the dwarf. "Mebbe it might be a good idea fer two o' us tae bunk together, jus' in case some o' these crim'nals in 'ere be gettin' some ideas o' gettin' their 'ands on that there lil' box, eh?"
Good idea, Bogorin. But if you start snoring, I'll put the chest in your mouth. That should give me enough rest for spells, and keep it safe at the same time!
Seltyn laughs and heads for the room, wary of any overcurious strangers.
"Perhaps a room for the ladies and a room for the gentlemen. That helps us get to know each other, but ensures that no one does something too foolish at the height of drink. And I don't want to know if that comparison is pulled from real life, Dreadan, so please don't elaborate." Beestinger says as he follows the others to bed, looking over his small amount of gear before turning in.
"I will bunk next door. If someone attacks I will hear the elf's screams and come to your aid. Good night, Don't let the bed bugs bite. It could get infected."