Xing rubs and flexes her arms where the flesh was torn only moments ago. She gives a small smile and nod at the elderly halfling woman. ”Thanks,” she says quietly. And again, when the halfling fixes up the slashes in her clothes, she shakes her head, ”Again, thanks. It seems I’d be leaving pieces of myself all over this plaza if not for you. You work on that caravan?”
Well. Kinda. I wasn't hired as such, just kinda fell in with them a few weeks back. I'm a bit of a wanderer.
She watches the fox almost as intently, offering the vulpine creature a small wave.
The fox tilts it's head, then waves back.
Following suit, Yash stripped out of his horn armor and numerous furs, letting them fall in a pile near the troughs. Modesty was not a word that translated into Orkish. He proceeded to scrub himself with clean water using only his bare hands. As he washed, he took in the conversations and looked up at the unusual topography of the area. Once done, he shook himself dry, his matted and braided hair flinging water like a wet dog.
Once dry enough, he began to pick up his attire, waving his hands over the damaged areas as he asked the spirits to bind the splits left by combat. As unseen hands stitched the rags back together, Yash began to redress, his hand gingerly brushing against the still-tender flesh. Finally he looked about, a singular question clear in his mind.
"Eat now?"
Well. Kinda. I wasn't hired as such, just kinda fell in with them a few weeks back. I'm a bit of a wanderer.
Xing nods, appreciating the response. "Oh yeah? I've spent most of my life traveling, too. There's just so much ... freedom on the road." She speaks of the road positively, but anyone can see a shadow of pain as she speaks of travel.
As Yash strips down, though, Xing's attention is once again arrested. She scowls, averting her eyes.
Xing tries to mask it, but you notice something about her reaction. While Xing's reaction to both Senna and Yash disrobing is uncomfortable, it's different kinds of discomfort. For Senna, it was awkwardness and embarrassment. For Yash's, there was some anger mixed in.
"Yeah," she says gruffly, "Let's grab that bite." She gestures to the tattoos displayed on Sausage's flank, then holds up her arms, displaying her own tattoos. "And you can tell me about your business. I'm always looking for more good ink."
Once everyone is cleaned up, your party heads back to the plaza, near the archway entrance and the site of the battle. While the local populace may have been stunned to inaction during the battle, they are clearly efficient at cleanup. The remains of the monster are gone. The plaza stones have been washed, only a hint of glitter remains. And the wrecked carts have either been replaced or removed for repairs. The lively conversations and commerce have returned. But there is a subtle difference now. As you stroll along the dock, a few of the (presumably) locals, make eye contact and acknowledge your party with nods. You aren’t exactly ‘in’ but you definitely aren’t entirely on the outside now.
At the far end of the dock is a galley, upside down, with a doorway cut in the side. Its keel greets the sky. Before you reach the rough-cut doorway in the massive vessel, your senses are tickled by the smell of cooking meats, the sound of music and laughter, and the glow of light emanating from the many windows that have been carved along the hull, practically all the way to the top. A weather-vane is mounted atop the keel as well. It is a large phallus and testicles of hammered steel. Apparently, it knows which way the wind blows…
A burst of cheering from the doorway draws your attention downward and you see the swinging sign above the door. It is carved from a piece of hull and skillfully painted. The painting is an amply-endowed woman in a state of undress, parts falling out as it were, with a lascivious smile and absolutely huge glasses magnifying her eyes ridiculously. Welcome to the Near-Sighted Slattern.
You enter the Slattern and the interior doesn't disappoint. Its nautical pedigree is evident in the wide variety of original gear that is attached to the 'ceiling' of this upside-down ship. Coils of rope, a portion of the mast, belay pins, a map table with sextant and compass, and other equipment all cling realistically to the ceiling.
The first floor (formerly the underside of the ship's main deck) is divided into three spaces. The largest is the central tavern and common room. Two dozen people are here - eating, drinking, laughing, and bickering at a dozen long trestle tables. Three locals with dubious musical talents play rousing tunes in the corner on worn instruments.
To one side of the tavern, separated by a bulkhead, is a small quiet room with more intimate tables. No one sits here currently. Adjacent to the bar is a circular staircase winding upwards, watched over by a small office. Sitting in the office is a plump and pretty middle-aged woman. At the bar itself, there are five patrons, most of whom are sitting and talking quietly. The balding barman wipes down the L-shaped bar with a dirty rag.
On the other side of the tavern is a largish room with gambling and a modest bloodsport arena with a sand floor. The card tables are empty, but a small group of men are betting noisily on a fight between what you believe are a zombie chicken and a skeletal cat.
The long-faced, balding bartender sees your party and his face sours even more than his obvious resting sour expression. He loudly taps on a chalkboard sign on the counter that reads:
NO Clockworks
NO Companion Animals
NO Pets
NO Familiars
Despite being uncomfortable in public spaces like taverns, Yash wasted no time in walking in and looking for an empty table. He stood in the middle of the common area looking around for a moment before heading to the bar. He plopped a silver coin down on the bar, speaking only one word to the man behind the counter.
"Food."
As he stood waiting for a reply, he glanced around again.
The scowling barman scoops up the coin, "It'll be a minute. She'll bring ya lunch where'ver yer at." With that, he moves off to refill another customer's drink.
Yash sees half of one trestle table is occupied by a small pack of orcs with one or two half-bloods in the mix, enjoying a robust game of dice and bloody fists. Judging by their scars, tattoos, and paint, they represent a variety of clans. In such a gathering, usually, fists would be the least bloody thing happening.
Having been busier thinking big and abstract thoughts before, Sabelina makes up for by doing her introductions all around while the gang makes its way toward some well earned refreshment.
Unless forced to do otherwise, she goes straight for the part of the that's jumping with hubbub. They aren't here to attend a funeral after all. She settles in at a table with the rest and first takes a gauge of the room. There are things she wants to know, but the asking needs to match the crowd who'd be answering. Sabeline thought the place's sign was cute, she's hoping for some of the same from its patrons.
She doesn't order yet, waiting to see if someone comes to their table or they're on their own with the bar counter. Servers have to make a living and it wouldn't do to cut their's out of the loop, if they have one.
The crowd may be rough but the hospitality is quick. Within moments of sitting, a pleasant girl of sixteen years finds her way to the table. "Welcome to the Slattern. Are you eating, drinking, or both? We have fresh seafood chowder, made this morning. That'll run 2 silvers but it is enough to feed two..." She glances at the tall Minatan monk, "usually."
"Certainly both my dear! If you're recommending the chowder, I'll trust your judgement. That and ale please."
Xing follows Sabelina to the table, keeping her mouth closed and her eyes peeled. The odd fight at the arena area gets a quick inspection, but mostly Xing tries to get a feel for the other patrons.
When the serving girl takes Sabelina’s order, Xing catches her eye. ”I’ve had enough ocean food for a while. Do you have beef? Or … “ she side-eyes Sausage, then adjusts her next word, ”.. venison? The fresher and hotter, the better. Then some water and something strong. Whisky. Rum. Whatever’s good.” She grins and points at Senna. ”My first drink’s on her.”
The barmaid smiles at Xing's quip, nods, and moves off to get the order placed. The drinks, when they arrive are good. The ale is crisp and Xing’s whisky packs an understated punch – like a silk-wrapped iron mallet.
Both women watch the crowd, such as it is. As it is still a couple hours until dinner, the tavern is not in full swing yet. And judging from the number of tables, the Slattern does a lot of business. But at this hour the crowd is sparse, no more than a fifth of its normal capacity:
There are half dozen orcs and half-orcs at one table which have drawn Yash’s attention.
There are five or so gadfly locals at the bar itself and the three musicians in the corner.
With no boats to unload, there are a sprinkling of stevedores engaged in a bit of day drinking and swapping insults with a couple of the regulars at the bar.
A trio of older women are sitting in a window seat in cushioned chairs involved in ide chat, knitting, and drinking what appears to be tea. One of the Orcs crosses over and talks to the ladies briefly before stepping outside the tavern.
Part and not part of the general mixing of the crowd are a couple Taldan merchants who are chatting quietly like schoolboys while watching the barmaid a little too much.
A pair of whores (judging from their silks and state of undress) come down the circular staircase to get some late lunch at a table near the kitchen. The woman is a pretty half-elf. The man is stunning, regardless of race. They joke amiably around their meals and beer.
The orc that stepped out returns, along with another man. They exchange a few words and the orc laughs heartily then claps the fellow on the back so hard he almost falls down. The orc returns to his friends and the other fellow joins the musicians on the stage, making it a quartet. He begins to play an utterly strange stringed instrument with some sort of crank. He observes the people in the tavern almost as much as you do.
An older man trying to look dashing in expensive clothes with a young girl on his arm takes offense and barks when the barmaid asks what his daughter would like to drink. The barmaid, uncowed, sticks the knife in deeper with a comment like, ”Oh, is she your grand-daughter then?” There are more than a few snickers among the crowd and one or two people mutter ‘visitor’ under their breath.
Judging from their stained and dusty clothes, hands too near their weapons, and general look of ‘what is this place’, a group of three adventurers or mercenaries have just arrived in town. They take a minute to get their bearings and eye the orcs, at least, with a clear level of distrust. Everyone you think is a local looks at them at least once like something about them draws attention, aside from the obvious.
Senna considers an appropriate response to the ‘No Familiars’ sign but decides to take the high road instead. I hear the high road has better scenery. She scratches Sausage vigorously and puts a silver coin in his mouth with an admonishment, ”One drink only and leave a tip.”, and sends the porker out the door.
She follows Sabelina and Xing, slides into an empty seat at the table, and kicks off her boots with a grateful sigh. Senna seems content to melt into the chair and watch the world spin by.
The sign makes Mama scoul. Lady was no mere familiar. Best not make waves though. She spots Senna's pig heading out the door and nods to Lady. Best keto that one company. See that he doesn't get into trouble again.
Lady rolls her eyes, but turns and follows.
Mama spots the group of older ladies and veers toward them after making sure everyone in her party is going to find somewhere to land. She approaches and puts on her best smile.
Greetings, ladies. I'm Cookie. Mind if I join?
The OBC (Old Bitty Committee) - as they call themselves - seem delighted to welcome a potential new member. They fuss about getting their chairs situated to make sure everyone has a dignified space and aren't "rubbing elbows like cattle". One of the ladies barks at the sour barman about getting a 'proper chair' for Cookie. The barman is quick to hop to it under the glaring eyes of the three founding OBC members. The barmaid is just as quickly dispatched to get a cup of tea as well.
And so, after two minutes of drama, the four ladies settle down into their plush chairs. Knitting needles start clacking, tea is served, and proper introductions are made.
Mama Cookie learns a few important things.
1. The ladies are: Drusilla (human), Odelai (gnome), and Gammerz aka 'Gammy' (tiefling).
2. The OBC will rake any 'youngster' over the coals who crosses them.
3. Their tea is lethal.
Cookie takes a sip and nearly chokes. It is a fine tea, no doubt... a lovely, hand-blended floral and herbal mixture steeped in grain alcohol. It is delicious and none of the ladies should breathe anywhere in the vicinity of an open flame.
"So, dear," says Odelai, "Tell us all about yourself. We've heard each other's stories so often, they feel like our own. It'll be so nice to hear a new yarn."
Sabelina begins to plot her course for the next while, scaling possible sources of information against inebriation level. She is, for the most part, a friendly, enthusiastic drunk who can come off as cute due to her young age and good looks. Or, to be more precise, she is good at pretending to be drunker than she actually is, which makes her seem trivial and harmless.
She intends to make a show of carousing to set expectations beforehand and sort the people she talks to according to how receptive Sabelina believes they will be to her as as they see her group continues to carry on. She chooses the merchants to be first since they have a home connection to her, making them the most probable to receive her visit well.
As soon as her meal and initial drink are finished, Sabelina goes to accost them. Walking over, she puts on a broad smile of surprised familiarity.
"Well! What a pleasant surprise! Fellow Taldans! What brings you here! Business I suppose? I am Sabelina Kinbrace-Valognes of Oparra. May I join you and steal a little of your attention? It's been a while since I've been in the company of my own kind."
The slightly drunk merchants stumble to stand quickly, surprised by the seeming turn in their fortunes. "Please! Please sit, Miss Sab'lina." They sit after she does. "Always happy to see another Taldane, yes! And a lovely one at that. Err... this is Bosky and I'm Ambrose. We do business in Oppara from time to time but we're from Cassomir. So, forgive us for not immediately recognizing your family name."
When the food arrives, Xing tucks into it immediately. Her left arm circles protectively around her plate as she hunches over to scoop food quickly into her mouth. You’ve seen soldiers, survivors, and scavengers eat this way. Efficient, if not exactly pleasant to watch.
After a few minutes — with a surprising amount of food already gone — she pauses, her golden eyes catching the light as she looks up at Senna.
”So,” she says around a mouthful of venison while gesturing to the Slattern’s main room, ”who’s Burt? And why are we avoiding them?”
She continues shoveling food into her mouth as she listens, though her eyes linger on the two "working folk" across the room.
Tankard resting on her belly as she reclines spinelessly in her chair, Senna watches Xing inhale her meal with curiosity but not judgment. She points at the sour-faced barman currently being run ragged by the knitting circle, a happy smile creeping across her face.
"That's Burt. He's an @sshole. Booted Sausage out of here yesterday tapping on that sign of his. Near as I can figure it, that isn't a tavern rule. There was a barman last night who let Sausage stay, no problems. We're not avoiding Burt... we're figuring out a way to settle his hash." She grins, "Or, at least, I am."
Sabelina settles in with the merchants.
"Oh, it's of no matter. Let's not stand on those kinds of formalities so far from home. No need to apologize."
Sabelina gives them both a subtle looking over to gain some clues about their relative prosperity or type of business, perhaps social class, but launches a conversation right away after calling for another drink.
"So Bosky and Ambrose, what do you deal in that brings you to such an out of the way, and might I say, odd place? Have you just arrived or been here for a while? I myself just arrived earlier today, and very much by accident I must add."
Xing snorts a laugh, shaking her head. ”It would be a real shame should his sign become lost, no?” She pauses, ”Though in all honesty, I usually don’t look for trouble. It finds me easily enough as it is.” She scowls over her shoulder at the barman, ”Though I do hate .. um … how you say … bullies?” She grins back at Senna, ”Maybe I can tolerate a little trouble, for a new friend. I hate to let ole Sausage down.”
Her eyes slide back towards the two prostitutes as she tries to get a sense for them.
As she watches, she asks Senna, ”Tell me, do you know how people in this area treat prostitutes? Are they celebrated? Reviled? Somewhere in between?”
The merchants have no qualms about discussing their business, a subject they find endlessly exciting.
”We deal in dry goods, bulk dry goods – spices, flour, salt, sugar, and the like. It’s a very lucrative market. As for this town, we stumbled on it while scouting for new villages that could use our services. What a find! We sold all our goods in two days! We’ve already sent word to Cassomir and two more wagons should be on the way. And we expect to sell those out and buy a lot of merchandise here. They have… it’s just unbelievable. Have you been to the Bazaar? You should go. We could take you tomorrow. It has goods from everywhere. I don’t know how they do it.”
"Yes yes, it's such a cosmopolitan town for it's size. Most impressive and amazing! My father is in shipping you see, and I don't understand how he could possibly not know about Threshold after all his years in the business. A place like this practically on Oparra's doorstep? Almost inconceivable it's praises aren't sung in both Oparra and Cassomir! Wouldn't you agree?"
Sabelina breezes right by their invitation, hoping her longish praising of the town will leave their thought of escorting her about well in the past and forgotten.
Yash heads towards the table with the orcs. He gives them all a cursory glance, nodding at each one individually before offering his customary greeting of slapping his chest three times and introducing himself.
"Yash"
As he waits for his food, he begins to speak in a guttural tongue.
"Pozdrawiamy spacerowiczów po świecie. Jak smakuje jedzenie? Co to za miejsce? Czy byłeś tu długo?"
Greetings world walkers. How's the food? What is this place? Have you been here long?
”…real shame should his sign become lost… I do hate bullies…” She grins back at Senna, ”Maybe I can tolerate a little trouble, for a new friend. I hate to let ole Sausage down.”
”You’re alright, Xing.” Senna says approvingly as she clinks her tankard against Xing’s.
”But he probably has chalk in his pocket to make another sign on the fly… and, as newcomers, I don’t want blowback coming in our direction. Plus, when I get someone, I want them to stay got. I think the solution to this bully is a bigger bully.” Her eyes slide over to the quartet of knitting grannies. ”And those ladies may be it. Did you see how they had him hoppin’? Are you in good with… Cookie? She hasn’t said three words to me.” She recounts it as a dispassionate fact, not a problem. ”I bet she could get those ladies to press ol’ Burt to drop that sign off the dock so they could all meet her foxy pal.”
”Tell me, do you know how people in this area treat prostitutes? Are they celebrated? Reviled? Somewhere in between?”
”Uhhh… I really don’t know. Taldans seem kind of stuffy and preening to me but, as I recall, they have a history of treachery, debauchery, and ruthlessness. So my guess is they look down on Lián jiè rén* in public but it’s a different story in private. Here, in Threshold… I wouldn’t even guess.”
The orcs nod politely before offering their names in return and widen their circle to make room for Yash to join. For Yash, some of their accents sound a bit strange, like variants of Orkish he’s never heard. It’s another first in a day of firsts.
One of the orcs (Jagdaz) not actively involved in the betting, dicing, or periodic punching speaks with Yash. He is a head shorter than Yash but broader through the chest. He bears a number of unusual scars, odd tattoos, and unrecognized clan paint patterns.
Jagdaz grunts politely at Yash’s questions…
"Pozdrowienia! Jedzenie tutaj jest dobre, ale jedzenie w Rustic jest lepsze – bardziej stare i śmierdzące, jak w domu."
He gestures expansively, indicating the tavern or something greater. "Ta tawerna czy to miasto? Kilkoro z nas było tu od… Sześciu obrotów księżyca. Większość z nich była tu mniej niż dwa zakręty."
"My father is in shipping you see, and I don't understand how he could possibly not know about Threshold after all his years in the business. A place like this practically on Oparra's doorstep? Almost inconceivable it's praises aren't sung in both Oparra and Cassomir! Wouldn't you agree?"
Ambrose looks to Bosky for confirmation before whispering conspiratorially to Sabelina, "Honestly? We're glad it isn't well known. Think of the opportunity! We can corner the market here. With your family's ships... well, that would speed up shipping and increase the amount of goods we could transport. We could all work together and everyone involved gets rich off this!" The men are practically giddy at the idea of it.
Sabelina could almost bang her head on the table. She should have known better than to mention what her father does, and now she's trapped herself. So stupid!
She backtracks as best she can.
"Well... I don't actually know anything about my father's business. And we're not exactly on speaking terms right now. And I don't expect I'll be back home again for a couple of years or so."
She shrugs helplessly.
"I suppose I could send him a letter? If you would like to write a letter explaining what your proposing, I can send it. I'm sure I couldn't do your idea justice if I tried."
"Wybacz mi, ale nie znam twojego plemienia. Skąd jesteś? Jak się tu znalazłeś? Moje plemię pochodziło z Anuli, daleko na południu.
Nie widziałem wiele z naszego gatunku, odkąd zostaliśmy zepchnięci, wiele księżyców temu. Minęło jeszcze więcej księżyców, odkąd grałem w jakiekolwiek gry."
Forgive me, but I do not know your tribe. Where are you from? How did you come to be here? My tribe was from Anuli, far to the south.
I have not seen much of our kind since we were forced away, many moons ago. It has been even more moons since I played any games.
As he spoke, Yash fished around under his furs for more coins. With an interested eye, he watched the dice being thrown, trying to understand the game and the wagers being placed. Numbers were never Yash's strong suit. Another thought came to his mind as the dice tumbled across the wood.
"co robisz dla pracy tutaj?"
"I suppose I could send him a letter? If you would like to write a letter explaining what your proposing, I can send it. I'm sure I couldn't do your idea justice if I tried."
"That would be grand. I'll get you a draft tomorrow... so what are your plans for the rest of the evening?"
Orcy subjects…
Jagdaz gives Yash a long look before speaking quietly and earnestly, ” Moje plemię nazywa się „Płonąca Włócznia”. Nie wiesz o tym, ponieważ twoje plemiona nie są moimi plemionami, tak jak twój świat nie jest moim światem. W obu światach nasi ludzie walczyli. Ale w moim świecie toczyliśmy zupełnie inną wojnę i wielu naszych sojuszników to ludzie, których orkowie nazywają wrogami.”
” Do pracy… zwykle pilnujemy lokalnych karawan lub robimy trochę zwiadu. W międzyczasie podejmujemy prace dorywcze. Potrzebujesz pracy?”
”For work… we usually guard the local caravans or do a bit of scouting. In between we take odd jobs. Do you need a job?”
Cookie takes her choke and turns it into a long sigh. Mmmmmm. I haven't had a tea like this in Ages! Thank you, ladies.
I'm originally from a tiny little village called Ram in the foothills of the mountains. A quiet little place, just lovely. But, you know, my own descendants started to out number all the other families combined. And after I lasted longer than my third husband, gods be with him, I figured it was time to go see the world.
So, unless you really enjoy stories of my grandkids, I'm afraid I'm not all that interesting. Aaaand even when I joined the caravan that brought me here I fell into cooking and keeping the children.
She leans in as if to share some scandalous secret, But really, I had to. None in that entire procession knew a cabbage from lettuce! And that's not even starting on the children before I arrived!
She shakes her head and gives a tiny scandalized laugh.
At Senna's mention of 'newcomers', Xing's mask of reserve returns, and she shrugs. The last of the juices from her meal get wiped up with the remaining bit of flat bread, which she pops into her mouth. The two prostitutes get one last resigned look,
"We probably do want to keep a low profile for now."
"Are you in good with… Cookie? She hasn’t said three words to me. I bet she could get those ladies to press ol’ Burt to drop that sign off the dock so they could all meet her foxy pal.”
Xing shrugs, "Not really. I met her about two minutes before I met you. You should go suggest it." She takes the last sip of her drink, washing it all down with a huge gulp of water as she stands.
She takes the whisky glass with her to the bar counter, leaning on it and wordlessly ordering one more. It's all a pretense, though. She spends a minute watching the dockworkers.
Finally, with a sigh to screw up her courage, she steps over and gives the stevedores a small bow. "Good afternoon. I guess since you're here, the docks are quiet right now? Any interesting new ships come in? I'd say I'm looking for a way to find some excitement, but the plaza definitely had more than enough of that today."
There, she thinks, suitably vague.
Yash grasped and regrasped the small pouch, each time feeling the coins inside jostling. He didn't have to open it to see how few were left.
"Mogę. Powiesz mi o swoim świecie? Twoja wojna?"
I may. Will you tell me about your world? Your war?
Cookie and the OBC…
Cookie has time to really appreciate the tea while the conversation continues. The flavors are initially simple, then they grow in complexity and appeal. Further, the flavor is crafted to be a different experience on her tongue than it is in her nose and the two are simultaneous dissonant and complementary. The aggregate effect is it triggers Cookie to reflect on her past and the feelings of comfort that home and hearth provide. Whoever concocted this ‘simple tea’ is an artisan and master at their craft.
The ladies cluck approvingly at Cookie’s story and insert their own thoughts:
Drusilla encourages, ”Grandchildren! They are a handful. We wouldn’t mind hearing about your grandchildren, honestly. The misadventures of Gammy’s grandson Dafid I can recite by heart…”
Gammy asks, ”Not to be indelicate but… are you looking for husband number four? There aren’t a lot of suitably mature gentlemen in town but there are definitely a few we could introduce you to…”
Odelai rests her needles and stares out the window a moment before returning to her work, ”Travel is so lovely – seeing exciting new places, meeting interesting strangers. It definitely keeps one young. For my people, it’s almost a requirement – the Bleaching, don’t you know… But, at a certain age, you want travel and enjoy the comforts of home. Don’t you find that to be true?”
Yash and Jagdaz…
Orcy stuff…
Jagdaz takes Yash’s platter of food as it arrives and moves to small table away from the game. He sits down to have a more private conversation with the tall half-orc.
” Zbyt dużo gadania podczas gry przeszkadza niektórym z naszych przyjaciół...…wszyscy zjednoczeni, by obalić i zabić naszych Mistrzów.”
Jagdaz changes subjects, addressing Yash’s other question. ”As this world is called Golarion, mine is called Miir. In my world, our tribes are mostly united and we have a homeland now. Races still fight and countries compete but borders are respected. This balance is ensured by the Council in service to the Empty Throne. Before that was the great war. All the enslaved peoples – Orcs, Halfling, Gnomes, Goblins, Giants, Dwarves, Grannekk, Ogres, so many other races, and both branches of Humans – all united to overthrow and slay our Masters.”
Xing and the Stevedores… (sounds like a 50’s band name)
Finally, with a sigh to screw up her courage, she steps over and gives the stevedores a small bow. "Good afternoon. I guess since you're here, the docks are quiet right now? Any interesting new ships come in? I'd say I'm looking for a way to find some excitement, but the plaza definitely had more than enough of that today."
The stevedores look at Xing, then one another as if reaching a silent agreement. The fellow across the table from Xing, pushes an empty chair out with his foot, offering it to her with a smile. ”Take a load off! We saw that scrape on the docks… nice work! I’m not afraid to admit I nearly sh!t myself when I saw that weird thing flap-flying around. Whatdidyasayyurnamewas? That there is Anselm and I’m Breck.” He offers his hand.
Anselm guffaws, ”Nearly he says? There was nothin’ nearly about it. I was downwind from you and it smelt like a crapper exploded!”
Breck retorts, ”Bah! You were just smellin’ your mum on me, from last night…”
Sabelina shifts in her chair a little, looking for her exit.
"First I should get back to my friends at our table. Later, we still have to find accommodations for the night. I expect we'll see each other around here again soon enough; you can give me the letter then."
Sabelina stands and bids them both a good day before going back to her own table for her next drink, even though by that time only Senna remains.
She gives a small grin at the exchange as she sits. ”Thanks. Most people just call me Xing. And honestly, I think I need to change my own underclothes after dealing with that thing up-close.”
”It’s nice to meet you both,” she says as she looks at both Anselm and Breck. ”Most people I’ve worked with on the docks prefer blunt honesty. I know I do. And you both look like you’re trying hard not to say something. I’d find it refreshing if you just said it plain.”
Yash followed the orc to the smaller table, not waiting to be invited to sit. He immediately stuffed his mouth as he began to listen to the orc answer his questions. The more the orc spoke, the more confused Yash looked.
"Nie jestem kupcem. Jestem duchowym spacerowiczem. Przywieźli mnie tutaj, ale nie wiem dlaczego."
"I am no merchant. I am a spirit walker. They have brought me here, but I do not know why."
As the orc continued his tale, Yash's mouth began to hang open.
"Inny świat? Jak to jest możliwe? Kto lub co zniewoliło wszystkie rasy w twoim świecie? Dwie gałęzie ludzi? Jak to jest, że opuściłeś swój świat?"
"Another world? How is this possible? Who or what had enslaved all of the races in your world? Two branches of humans? How is it that you left your world?"
Sabelina and Senna…
Sabelina barely gives the merchants a chance to say goodbye before she is back to the table that now holds only Senna.
The archer lounges, seeming too comfortable to worry about the happenings around her. She appears a bit startled by Sabelina’s return. She gives the bladewoman a raised and amused eyebrow. ”I’m guessing it wasn’t ‘true love’, eh? It was gout, right? He had a gouty foot and a boil on his neck – he looks the type.”
Sabelina settles in and calls for a glass wine, red, this time. Ale has it's place but too much of the stuff and she can start to feel bloated.
When the server brings it Sabelina passes her an extra silver coin.
"I heard what you said to the randy old man with the girl earlier. You're excellent; don't ever change. You're the best thing about this place."
There's something of a motherly, or at least older sisterly, tone to what she says, though Sabelina is only a couple of years or so older the the server.
Turning to Senna, Sabelina asks "You mentioned you're Varisian right? Where were you when you entered the town? Also, did you enter Threshold because the alternative was worse? That's what happened to us. We were running from something and ended up here, our only path forward."
A thing about Sabelina that is sometimes good, but usually bad is how she can latch on to an idea, thought, or question and worry it to death while ignoring most everything else. She can be a bit like a badger that way.
Despite changing to wine, she still drinks it quickly.