Gunnar Thurvardsson's page

Luwana and Gunnar chat with you as you all finish your meal, studiously absorbing your recounting of events.

(I assume you keep the existence of the Svörtgaldrabók a secret unless you say otherwise).


”Well, these potato skins are a fine discovery, and I’ll be back here in future. At the moment, however, Luwana and I will have to get back to the others. Feel free to drop by in the evening after the workday is done; the captain would love an after-action report.” The dwarf hands you a piece of paper with the address of the flophouse, pays his tab, and walks out. Luwana bids you farewell with a cryptical smile.
 

The dwarf tilts his head, then holds a hand out in acknowledgment of Okoteck’s points. ”As the birdman said, there’s a lot to it. The blacksmith and I, working together, could make a cannon, though it won’t be ratfolk quality. And obviously we know how to make rifles and pistols if given a chance.”
 
He purses his lips in thought. ”I’ll pass along your considerations to the captain.” Then, recalling Kork’s earlier query, he adds, ”And the quartermaster is doing perfectly fine. We had to sell some supplies, but most of what we could take from the camp is intact, and she’s managing the general fund the captain takes out of everyone’s pay. And the sailmaker’s fine too. He, er, she’s… adjusting.” Catching sight of Zelli’s quizzical look, he shrugs and replies, ”It’s a long story.”
 

"And how long before the jarl got the idea in his head to take back this Thegnheim place we've been hearing about?" responds the gunner. "The captain hasn't made up his mind yet, and is holding off for now, at least until we know more."

He turns to the party. "Unless you have information that might sway his decision?"

The dwarf grins and replies in Eredori Common. "No need for pleasantries, I know you came from the mainland." He makes an expansive gesture and continues in the party's impromptu code.

"We've settled into a flophouse near the river, but there's so much demand for skilled tradesmen we should be able to move up to better lodging within a month or so. Thorvaldur is working for the Brighthammers as a contract smith, and Elendriel is busily proving his worth to the Gungfår twins, who run a lot of the housing construction in this town."

The dwarf sighs as the positive facts exhaust themselves and his concerns bubble to the fore.

"There's nowhere in the jarl's realm with a shipyard big enough to build a craft that can cross the ocean and get us home, and building one from scratch will require significant capital. And then there's the question of the black powder." He takes a swig of cider. "While we still have a few kegs of it, we're reluctant to teach the locals to make more, since we have no idea what the fallout might be."

The dwarf chuckles pleasantly at Syper's response and nods. "We've gotten along so far."

"Mention what?" asks a familiar voice.

You turn and behold the ship's gunner striding confidently through the door toward the table, with the ebony-skinned navigator striding in behind him with an enigmatic smile on her face.

"Been a long three weeks," the dwarf observes with a smile on his face. "How've the natives been treatin' ye?"

"We'll burn that bridge when we come to it," the gunner replies, chuckling.

Gunnar turns to the rest of the crew. "Well, I've had enough mysticism for ten lifetimes, so forgive me if I don't want to wait around for this crone."

"Of course, that little light show cost us a twelfth of our stock," Thurvardsson adds. "Of course, it was necessary, mind ye, but if incidents like that one that threaten the entire ship become the norm, we'll run out long before we've completed our mission."

Over the annoying hum in your ears, you hear the gunner whoop with excitement and yell, "Whatever they paid for this stuff, it wasn't enough!"

The gunner yells a reply. "Understood. Preparing to fire!"

The gunner takes a moment to respond. "If I tweak the nozzle pressure, I think I can spray them all with one charge."

The gunner yells back, "They're bunched pretty tightly; they all came from the same place at the same time."

After a moment of silence to count the approaching adversaries, the gunner responds tensely, "About two dozen." He then adds ominously, "And the sharks are big, big enough to damage the ship."

Then, Gunnar’s voice cuts through the darkness. ”I see them! They’re heading this way on sharkback, and faster than we’re going. They'll catch up in three to five minutes!”

"Sing? I want to know if she can dance!" chortles a rakish dwarf as he enters the room and grabs a seat.

"I'm the gunner, Gunnar, and a strong believer in nominative determinism." The dwarf laughs at his own joke.

He nods at a halfling man dressed in leather who enters on his heels.

"This is Thaddrick Lightfoot, my assistant."