The cooper snorts, barely audible. "Better you lot than me," he mutters under his breath. Then he smiles broadly and says to the party, "Good luck to you folks. We couldn't do this without you."
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"That's my read on it, too." The cooper emerges from belowdecks, using a cloth to wipe grease off a small handtool. "House Kleretori would obviously want to know where the snappod distillate originates, as breaking Dandolon's monopoly on the weapon would improve their long-term standing, but only a rogue scion would actually take hostile action against House Dandolon with the Nendastan situation so tense." He glances out over the aquamarine expanse of the Norennian for a moment before continuing his thoughts. "Nendasta is a strange place. They were settled over a hundred years before the pirate lords came to the Isles, by Cornyrian exiles fleeing Akarnennian control of Dendar. They don't speak Common there, and have always tended toward the macabre, since their graveyards so rarely stay quiet. Something's wrong with the ground there, or so the stories say." He finishes wiping grease off the wrench and places it into his belt. "For the longest time, relations were cool but cordial; they needed our silver for their smiths so they could keep the werewolves, ghouls, and assorted monsters at bay. But they've somehow secured an alliance with the gargoyles that dwell in the hill country and preyed on settlers, and can now mine silver themselves." He leans against the railing and continues. "This explains their lessened dependency on trade with the cities on Keliak. But as to why Lord Regent Pharsipal seems intent on raiding Eredori ships and dragging the entire island of Tholiar into a war they are unlikely to win, either he knows something we don't, or the superstitious psychics and harrow-readers that pass for advisors in his court have finally leapt free of their gourds." He turns to you both and smiles. "The Dragonsbite is loaded and ready to fire on a moment's notice," he informs you proudly. "Of course, the gunners are in charge of all the fun parts; I just maintain the barrels." The blacksmith shouts the cooper's name, and he rolls his eyes. "Duty calls," he offers with a theatrical, long-suffering air, as he returns belowdecks.
The cooper nods and turns to leave, but pauses momentarily to glance at the party. "By the way, dinner is ready," he informs you before loping off to find the gunners.
The cooper laughs. "And if they're not careful, I'll light the match myself. Right lot of pretentious bastards." He glances at Ferrino. "I take it you'll want me to see to our new cargo? Those barrels will need far closer care than the usual, I reckon. And we should probably load the weapon just in case."
"To treasure!", cheers a tanned and well-muscled man in his mid thirties. Noting your questioning looks, he nods and introduces himself. "I'm the cooper. I make, seal, and maintain barrels. Even with this fancy larder, it's still a crucial skill." He nods at the young man next to him. "This is Stennis Folari. He's the sailmaker, and key to this whole shindig. One day, Akarna willing, he might even grow a beard." |