Kesten, Aleric, Robert and I are sitting down and having a round of drinks, when man who looks like he’s been overdosing on potions of bull strength sits down.
He interrupts the conversation and starts talking about his companions, doesn’t even introduce himself. Of course we know who he is, Keston isn’t some green mercenary captain. Kesten motions for me hand him a drink so I do, after all Kesten’s the boss.
“Shore thing, sugah. Just keep’em them pints a comin’”
Sugah? Kesten shakes his head. Fine. I let it pass.
Glyn continues on talking about a companion of his, Thelonious, who is even bigger, uglier and apparently dumber than him. I’m having a hard time believing that last part. I knew a bard by the name of Thelonious back in Brevoy.
“Hey, Sweet-thang! Another round for these fine boys, here! That’s a girl.”
Sweet-thang! What in the nine hells? The bastard’s treating me like I’m some damn barmaid. My hand goes to my blade, but Kesten shakes his head and motions me to serve him from lucky cask #3, aka the Gut-rot barrel. A special favourite of Orcs, Trolls and Giants laced with a tranquilizer. It helps keeps dangerous or unwanted company calm or unconscious.
The drunkard starts talking about the elf dancing with his aunt or something. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying between the slurring and the accent. I think the elf is his uncle or something. Here, I thought the elf might be worth a roll in the hay with, but married men are a show stopper with me. Guess that leaves the …..
“Uuuurrrrrrppppp! The good stuff always tastes as good on the way back up…”
Gods, the smell is horrible. The bandits hanging by their necks smell better that this drunk.
He seems to be talking about the other guy who got hit by the ugly tree and then started benching it. Can’t really make out too much of what he is saying, but I’m impressed that he’s still standing.
It looks like Kesten has given up trying to get a word in edgewise. And instead asks “Another round?”
“Another round? Don’t mind if’n I does, just let me chug this last bit here….”
The slurring is even worst, but from what I can make out the last guy’s nickname is Stickly or Woody and is the camp whore. Didn’t figure him for that type, but Robert will probably be interested.
“Hey! Sugah! I’m dry over here! Why don’t you bring me another pitcher. And your twin sister can come sit here in my lap an’ keep me warm.”
That does it. I get up quickly move behind him.
“An’ stop wobblin’ around so much, wouldya?”
The pommel of my dagger hits the back of his head. Down he goes under the table.
“Well, how about that…sumbuddy carved their names in the bottom of this table…too fuzzy to read tho. Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a sec….”
That’s going to leave a nice goose egg, and I’d hate for the world to miss a work of art like that. So let’s just shave the top of his head.
Kesten just looks and shakes his head, “I’ll see if I can talk to any of the others. Oh, and nothing permanent. We may be working with them longer than anticipated if my contacts are correct.”
I nod. Then turn back to teaching Glyn not to disrespect me.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” I say to his mostly unconscious body, “the name is Brandi. Brandi with an i.”