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"Well, You didn't ask me," says the halfling merchant snootily, with his nose up in the air, "but if it were me going, I might map some of the northern Marches while I was at it, you know, for efficiency sake. Can't have kingdom without land now can you?"
"Yes. You should." says Anando, obviously impatient to clear the table and wash the dishes.
After the dishes are washed and put away, Anando retires to his office to pen the letter to the Archbanker to have him send a capable treasurer.
"Of course." says Anando rolling his eyes. He fetches a small basket of bread off the kitchen counters hands it to the unknown guard.
"Well, you are in charge." Ananda climbs down the side of his chair, no doubt to see to dinner when he stops turns and reaches up to the desktop to shut his ledger. He slides the neat stacks of coins there beside it into a pouch and throws it into his safe, which he closes with emphasis. About a half hour later dinner is served.
"Well, that was quick!" says the mildly astonished halfling from over a big ledger, spread open upon his desk. He pulls his Pince-Nez glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. He climbs down from his human-scale stool to greet you. "I see you've found the ruffian. Shall I have the guard captain make accommodations for him and his friend in the shed? It has a very good lock."
As conversation seems to slip into a coma at the table, and the only noise is the sound of people chewing sour dour dipped in gravy, Anandro attempts to resuscitate it by saying "Well, we'll need to look into expanding the bunk house." no doubt in reference to the scores of laborers and craftspeople who accompanied the party back from Restov.
Retiring to the office house the party finds things have changed considerably. The clutter of paper invoices has been sorted and filed, the dining room table is set aplomb, each setting coming with more spoons and forks than most would find necessary, every shelf and container in the kitchen has been meticulously organized and labelled and the place seems spotless, though there are a number of step stools and tracked and wheeled ladders set up against most of the cabinets and wall shelves. "Well sit down. I'll return with the meal. Come along Jacobi, you can help me pull the sour dourdough from the oven." Even the big sweaty porter is turned out in attire worthy of a lord's footman.
Quite frankly, it doesn't matter how angry the top gets, it can't make a move if those below it do not follow. And if it still attempts to, then it will but fall. Though I feel the sooner we can quell the potential revolt the better. If it stews too long, we may not be able to keep it from boiling over." "Oh no." squeaks the halfling. "The stew!" He rushes back to the outpost's office.
"So what are you going to do about it?" says Anando, nearly hopping out of his tailored suit in exasperation.
"Isn't that bad enough!? Kobolds. The very thought of it."
A few weeks later back at exclaims a frazzled-looking Anando Veresisi, the current proprietor. The halfling leans in on his tiptoes to emphasize the dire state of things. "There's been all sorts of trouble! Kobolds skulking about, troll sightings, some ruffian named Akiros came to the outpost with a band of ill-favored brigands demanding food for the winter. I had Captain Kesten and the outpost guard see them off. Oh, and the farmers to the west are revolting. Absolute pigs they are, and they are revolting against you and the Dragonscale Throne of Brevoy." The party had only just arrived back in what is to be Avalon in the company of two dozen wains loaded with workmen and supplies from Brevoy to begin work building the new nation's capitol.
"I've taken the liberty of keeping the party mascot confined to the house ma'am." says the halfling putting a hand over a series of claws marks on the back of one of his hands. "Quite spirited." Alia finds Vega confined to his cage on the dining room table.
"At your service." says the little man with a deep bow.
"Vairy good Monsieur, though wé do not offair 'ot bath's haire. Zere eez 'owevair a vairy good Tian massaje parlair down le street. Zey offair ze full-body mezaje, if you know what Ai mean, Monsiéur." The halfling concierge says with a sly wink and little chuckle.
It is just then that a band of halfling servants led by the weird little butler arrives with your breakfast orders on a series of covered silver platters.
"Juice, sir? We carry: apple juice, lemonade, pink lemonade, blueberry, strawberry, pineapple, fruit punch, white grape, cranberry, cranberry-apple, raspberry, grapefruit, mosambi, tomato, banana-pineapple, mango, peach, citrus, carrot, aloe vera with apple, aloe vera with white grape, apricot, guava, orange, lemon-lime, pomegranate, pomegranate-lemonade, mixed-vegetable, black currant, plum, and prune. Which would you care for, sir?"
"Very good sirs." He looks around to see if there are any further orders.
Over hard please he replies The halfling blinks once and stares at Theodic for a moment before rolling his eyes skyward and signing deeply. "And to drink, sirs?"
"Scrambled since that's what everyone else is doing. Eggs are a superfood, good choice men." Monterey gets up and stops doing pushups as it is clearly making the butler here uneasy. "Your conformity is appreciated sir."
"Quite, sir." The small butler takes everyone's order, commiting them to memory like a Vancian conjuror. "And how would the gentlemen like their eggs prepared?"
A menial arrives, a halfling in formal butler wear. He stands there for a moment regarding the men nonplussed by their braggadocios, non-sequitur-laced dialogue, the assorted deadly weaponry upon their persons, nor the fact that Monterey is doing calisthenics in the lounge, and not in the gymnasium. "Might the gentlemen care for some breakfast? Eggs and toast or biscuits? Perhaps a dry towel?" he says in a tone that is both obsequious and aloof. |
