@BCTheEntity@POOHEAD189@Eisenhorn@Austronaut@Culluket@Sleater

It had been a while since Jan had said anything, and indeed it appeared that no-one really seemed to have noticed, yet there was a reason for this. That reason was, as was the want of many a Moot dweller after a hearty meal, because he had fallen quite asleep – his snores unheard above the shooting, shouting and general conversation between the old and new arrivals alike – but it appeared that this was soon to come to an end...

“Luccini!” He yelled with a start, his face rising from the plate of mashed potato into which it had slumped; apparently, in spite of his state of being rather unconscious, he had heard the entire conversation and now answered without thinking, even as he wiped away warm and buttered food from one side of his face.

“Did someone say we need a harbour? Well...Luccini is right next to the Tilean see, isn't it?”

The Duke of Trantio literally shook at the sight, wiping sweat from his unhinged and fevered brow, noticing that the Halfling had completely ignored the pointy-eared mercenary at the table. It was something that he however had not! Even as he spoke he stared at the Asur, his yes narrowing and his heartbeat racing, flashbacks coming to him even as he acknowledged the schemes of those around him.

“Master Dwarf,” he replied to Sketti first, “you can have your land, your gold and as much beer as you can drink! I swear it on my ancestors tombs.” Next he turned his eyes away from Baecion, for the moment, and took in the rest of the group, “you shall all have what you wish, either now or later as it may be.”

With a slight click of his fingers there was movement from Alfredo, the ever-loyal manservant making visible a rather weighty pouch in one scarecrow hand; it had not been there before, had it? It was as if it appeared out of nowhere, but now he launched it onto the table with a loud thump and the chink of metal on metal, plates knocked aside and goblets upturned.

Falling like golden droplets from the loosened strings of the purse were coins of glittering gold, around a couple of hundred, the purse actually as big as the Halflings curly-haired head; there were some from Tilea, the markings of various Republics punched onto them, there were coins from several Imperial provinces, as well as Arabic coins and even...if one looked close enough...a couple of coins of Elvish gold.

Jan was not particularly interested in gold, a simple Halfling of simple means, but the glittering gift caught even his sharp eyed attention.

“So,” he said again in his rather bass voice, for one of the Moot, “if there are no objections, then I suggest we take this bag 'ere an head for Luccini with all haste. An hope we don't meet no pirates on our way to...wherever it is we be goin' again.”

The Engineer glanced at the wakened Halfling and chuckled. Just like a moot boy to be sleeping after a hearty meal. It was nice to have him on this trek, Sketti admitted. The Halfling's idea was right on the money as well. Luccini was indeed a good place to set off. Speaking of money...

The acceptance of Sketti's terms and the gold that scattered on the table widened the Dawi's eyes, and he scrambled over to a chair, hefting himself upon it, and stood on it like a stool as he leaned over the table and carefully examined the coins. There were so many variations! "Well ye got me attention." he admitted, grabbing a random coin and admiring it with a professional air.

“So...if there are no objections, then I suggest we take this bad 'ere an head for Luccini with all haste. An hope we don't meet no pirates on our way to...wherever it is we be goin' again.” the Halfling said. Sketti still gazed at the different coins, picking each up and examining. "Aye, I'm ready to get goin' methinks." he agreed.

Biancca beamed as the plans began to take shape. Not only was she gainfully employed but they were headed for Brettonia, the centre of culture and fashion, on an errand straight out of a story book. Admittedly this sounded like the villain’s part in the book but that was just detail. Her ears perked up at the mention of land. She began to imagine that she might be able to gain estates and hence respectability. Come to think of it their doddering employer was childless and unwed. She cast her eyes around her companions.

How hard might it be to worm her way into the old man's title? Marriage was always possible of course but that seemed extreme. He was an old man, might he be convinced to adopt her and name her his heir? She sipped at her wine considering the idea. It might be easier just to fake documents to that effect. For that she would need the De Trantio's signature and his seal and no one to gainsay her when the time came.

She looked around her companions considering their suitability in such a scheme. The goblin need not be considered, his testimony would be worthless. The dwarf was another matter; they were famously rigid in matters of oaths and honour. Perhaps she could arrange for him to find employment in the north. That left the elf and Gahetano. She would watch them and see what might need to be done.

“Then it is settled,” she declared, raising her glass in a toast.

“If you would draw up a contract for us my lord then I will be willing to sign on.” A contract that would be on vellum and have the old man's signature and seal.

“After that, if you have no objection, I suggest we spend the night here, it is growing late and many of us have ridden a long way today already.” The Dwarf might be ready to pick up and leave this instant but she could use a night of rest.

-edited-

Hmm... anything they wished? As it happened, Baecion did have it in mind that perhaps a few tomes of magic and other such interesting topics might be necessary to help progress his magical abilities, if the man had any such objects in his castle... but he'd perhaps save his request until after they were alone, just so he didn't further alienate the other mercenaries in the group. Plans were discussed amongst others, including the idea of using a boat to escape (which Baecion first thought somewhat unnecessary, but after further chatter from the others saw the merits of implementing); meanwhile, Baecion finished his meal, politely crossed his hands over his lap, and when the time came, simply stated "A contract to confirm that we are owed certain dues once the job is complete sounds like a reasonable idea." Really, his input was barely needed, and ideally (at least for now), the less he was noticed, the better.

Gobskag rubbed his spindly green claws, a little too eagerly for anyone to be comfortable with.

"Sure, sure," he rasped, leering, "Poor, weak elfses and stunties needs their rest, neehh? Heh hehh... Ol' Gobskag will keep watch, an' make sure nuffing goes missing in da bleak, spooooky dead of night, hneh heh hnehh..."

It would be a good chance to poke around the cursed castle, too. Treasure and food aside, Gobskag would have bet his left eye there was a proper humie skeleton somewhere on the premises. Right good bones for magikk wands, and an evil-looking skull wouldn't go awry on his orkkult robes, neither.

"Den in da mornin' we can gets down ta business... But I ain't goin' in no cage!" he sqwaked, thumping his stikk against the floor for emphasis. "I gots a betta plan. One wiv extra cunnin' bits. Yous'll see."

He withdrew into suspicious mumbling, eyeing the others surreptitiously from under his hood and glancing around for secret doors.

Gahetano nodded. He was tired: a little rest was what he was hoping for. Howewer, he tried not to sound too desperate for it:

"It's pretty much settled then" the human declared heading towards Alfredo with a renewed cup of wine the man obviously needed. The servant, reluctantly, accepted the drink -since it was now being offered not so much by a guest than by another servant of his master- "I suppose theres a room were we can rest without creating further inconvenience to our employer?."

Sketti wasn't exactly tired, but due to the small bit of drink and how boring it was to listen to the Grobi speak, he'd fallen asleep on his chair. His snores were generally light, other than a few hacks every now and then. For some reason, he still seemed wary despite the closed eyes and sagged beard.

In the dead of night, Gobskag scuttled through a hole in the crumbling wall, loot-sack bulging with stolen food and ill-gotten gains. Mercenary work was right good, he thought to himself. You could get rich without even doing any fighting! Chengizz's ruby alone would make him a gob to be reckoned with. He was well on his way to being downright respectable.

"Now where did dey say we was goin'?...." he muttered to himself, leering over a crude, upside-down map with an X scrawled onto the coastline. He squinted at the horizon until he saw a tree that looked kind of like a picture of a tree on the map, and scuttled off in that direction, confident he'd reach Loosinny in no time at all.

---

Legends tell us of how the conniving shaman did indeed arrive at his destination, after traveling the breadth of the continent for years in the wrong direction; felling terrible beasts, carrying out daunting quests, slowly becoming both a grizzled veteran and something of a folk antihero, cackling in the face of authority. Tales are told of how he burgled the blue college against impossible odds, taking only a few bread rolls and a new hat, and using the headmaster's desk drawer as a privvy. Songs are sung of how he rescued the fair Duchess Aveline from the clutches of the Raven cult, felling countless Daemons and swinging her to safety across a bottomless fissure, only to ask if she knew what Luccini was and how were you supposed to get there again?...

Yes, whole decades passed before that huddled, dusty shape shuffled slowly into the border of Luccini. The goblin was wizened, now, darker in color, missing one beady eye and wearing a fake grey beard hooked over his ears and dangling down to the ground from his chin, just to make sure everyone knew he was proper venerable now. Onlookers whispered in awed, hushed tones of the Prophecy, the foretelling of the day Gobskag the Glorious would arrive at the port and unseat the reigning Prince, claiming his throne. But the grizzled green veteran only leered, sagaciously, and bought out the Prince's flagship in a jaw-dropping display of cunning negotiation and charisma. He hired on a select crew of eager adventure-seekers, including a giant, anchor-wielding ogre first mate, raised the Scarey Face flag and set sail, coursing on to lands unknown.

Yet as the great ship was casting off, some brave, pluckish young boy called out to the goblin hero, begging the secret of his almost supernatural good fortune. The greenskin mercenary looked back and could only leer, in as close to a kindly fashion as he was capable of. His one good eye twinkled like a beady red marble.... and the ruined socket of the other glimmered with an even deeper, faintly magical crimson sheen.

"Lad," he chuckled, tapping the eye-stone, "I owes it all to me lucky ruby."