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Pathfinder 1E Eberron Giantslayer


This is my Story Hour of the Giantslayer adventure path (PF 1e) set in Eberron. We are playing it as a PBP over at Paizo.

The cast of characters is:
Jacynta Laringfass - a female halfling Hunter 1 from Sylbaran in the Eldeen Reaches. (Portrait)
"You know why I like animals better than people? I've never met a lion that thinks I'm not living up to my potential, I've never met a hawk that wants to shame me for my choices, and I've never met a wolf that would abandon me after I've bonded with it. They know what's important in life, and they don't worry about much else. They've got this all figured out better than we ever will."
Thalmor Silverhelm of House Kundarak - a male Holder dwarf Inquisitor (Monster tactician, Oathkeeper) 1 (Portrait)
"There's money to be made in every endeavor."
Thurrvi Muth-la-Zash - a female Reacher half-orc Oracle (Spirit guide) 1 (Portrait)
"Diplomacy is only useful if something happens. And if someone says 'we had a useful discussion,' it means nothing happened."
Tuk Nimbleguts 273rd of his name - a male Brelish halfling Swashbuckler (Mouser) 1 (Portrait)
"Yeah, yer big...but my blade in yer ear will bring you down to my level, right quick!"
Engineer #3 Mk. II - gender-neutral Brelish warforged Soulknife 1 (Portrait)
"Anything can be a weapon. A half-round hammer, weight 500g, length 35cm, with hardened steel head and reinforced handle can move heated metal or forge weld plates. It can also shatter bones and deliver fatal blows with ease. The use of the tool and the choice of the wielder is of paramount importance."

If anyone would like to support the amount of time and effort it takes to tell a story like this, it would be much appreciated. My Patreon is under Trilogy Entertainment.

The room lay in darkness. A small ever-burning lantern hung by the door, its hood allowing just a crack of light to pierce the darkness of the room. The cramped quarters were full of bunk beds, their sleeping occupants having arrived late last night.

Thalmor had not slept well. Every bump and sound reminded him - and his insides - that he had boarded the House Lyrandar airship ‘The Colossus of Stormhome’, and that they were airborne.

Departing Sharn late last night, he had pulled some strings to get him aboard with short notice and was now bound for the town of Sylbaran on the southern border of the Eldeen Reaches. A bit of luck, it seemed, to be able to go straight to his destination rather than forcing him to take the lightning rail up to Passage in Aundair, before chartering a House Orien Coach down to Sylbaran. The whole journey would have cost upwards of 250 galifars and taken two more weeks of travel. This was strikingly easier. It also involved an extremely uneasy dwarf - him - flying. That was strikingly more difficult.

A bell sounded for cooks to begin preparing breakfast in the main kitchen.

The halfling Tuk jerked up in his bunk, his eyes wide, his breath hard in his chest as if he'd been being pressed into the ground and crushed. Tuk was glad the dim light kept his shameful reaction hidden as one of the warforged rose from a nearby bunk and exited the cabin in the dark.

Taking a deep steadying breath, he shook his head, his locks damp against his neck and cheeks.

Thalmor groaned quietly, kicking his legs out of the bed, while he rubbed the back of his neck. He pinched the tip of his beard, twisting it. With a heavy thump, his broad feet ‘plomped’ onto the ground, swaying uncomfortably as the airship hit a pocket of rough air. Blinking blearily, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as his tummy growled. He frowned as he grabbed his stuff, eyeing the rest of the sleeping room.

Grumbling audibly he exited the room to find whatever vittles these airship masters might have scrounged. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he made his way through the storage compartment in the next room over, before climbing the steep stair out of the passenger section of the hold. The ship creaked sleepily around him in response to his heavy footfalls. Ahead, he could make out quiet voices talking...likely the warforged that left the room a bit before him speaking in low tones with someone else.

The common area ran the width of the ship, almost forty feet wide at this point. A table and chairs lay just in front of the warforged Engineer #3 Mk. II with cabinets full of bread loaves and other sandwich fixings against the left wall. Another steep stair directly to the left of the door led up to the main deck, chockablock with full boxes and barrels strapped in behind the stair and hanging from the rafters over the cabinets.

Beyond the table, a counter jutted out from the left wall, full of cooking utensils and foodstuffs.

To the right of the door, a couple of bodies lay wrapped up in bedrolls on the floor in front of a padded wrap-around bench built into the walls. They snored softly, while above them a hammock lay empty.

Another counter jutted out from the right wall; it was kitty-corner, and offset just enough from the one on the left to allow passage between them. The deep blue of early morning from the portholes along the walls glinted off bottles and other drinking utensils stored under the counter.

In the dim area beyond the two counters, light from a lit stove in the kitchen could just be made out; a recognizable silhouette stood in front of it.

Roderik d'Deneith turned and smiled. "Good morning, Engineer. Sleep well?" Roderik chuckled at his own joke.

A groan emanated from one of the bedrolls on the floor. "It is way too early for your Khyber-spawn puns brother," the groggy voice of Kurst Grath, Roderik's younger twin brother, croaked out before rolling over towards the wall. "Three, please throttle him and his happiness so I can sleep."

"Good morning Roderick. Kurst."
Three said entering the room. "I am unable to strangle happiness, and it would serve no purpose to slay someone so obviously in distress. Perhaps a caffeinated beverage and some warm foodstuffs would improve your disposition Kurst? May I be of assistance in the galley?"

Scratching himself and muttering crossly, Thalmor stumbled into the room and maneuvered around the detritus toward the table and chairs. He settled into a chair, withdrew a ledger of sorts, and began to examine it, making notes at the margins. It seemed that he was waiting for something, and the furtive glances towards the kitchen, along with a gurgling dwarven belly, made said thing apparent promptly.

Roderik laughed jovially at Engineer #3 and his brother. "Absolutely, Three. Get over here, you can help fry up some tomatoes. We're on our own this morning,” he said to the room at large, “the lords and important folk are having breakfast up in the main galley."

Roderik pulled out a mug and a craft of beer from a storage locker. "Let me get you an ale, Master Thalmor," he said, greeting the dwarf. "I was told you would be joining us on our trip home." Condensation dripped down the sides of the craft, wettening the table as Roderik plonked it down, the dark brew slopping over its sides. "Welcome."

Thalmor looked up and nodded, a nearly imperceptible movement at the corner of his mouth betraying his pleasure at morning ale, "Aye, lad, much obliged." He gripped the handle of the mug, taking a draught of the dark liquid. The foam caught on his bushy beard, and he wiped it off with the back of his sleeve. He nodded, satisfied, "not bad for a morning brew, at least," he said in a gravelly voice. He rubbed his brow a moment before returning to his ledger.

Thuurvi, a half-orc woman wandered in, chewing on a bit of dried ginger.

“Thuurvi, good morning,” Roderik smiled at Thuurvi as he headed back to help Three.

Tuk emerged after Thuurvi and nodding politely made his way to the stairs leading up to the deck of the ship. He carried a bandolier and a weapon belt and was rubbing his neck. His wild shock of damp red hair caught Thuurvi’s eye, her own hair in a long orange braided plait down the center of her head trailing down her back.

Watching the halfling head above decks, Roderik flipped an egg in the pan on the stove. “Thuurvi, would you like some fried tomatoes and eggs with a couple of rashers of bacon?”

“That would be wonderful, Roderik.”
Thuurvi nodded at Roderik’s gaze following Tuk, “...ah, I guess he's not going for breakfast just yet?” She chuckled, “I'll be the honorary halfling and eat his breakfast as well if he doesn't come back. My stomach is regular as a clock,” she yawned, displaying distinct canines and larger tusklike teeth on her lower jaw, “even if I didn't sleep well.” She hovered for a moment near the cooking area, before taking a seat. “I would help, but spoons and knives tend to fly around me at times.”

Roderik exhorted, kicking at the lumps on the ground. "Rise and shine!"

A young female halfling entered the room. She glanced around as if looking for something as Kurst rolled over with a groan, "Sovereigns be damned. I'm getting up."

"Are they discussing the artifact up there in the lofty halls of the blessed gentry?"
Thuurvi asked as she ran her fingers through her bright flame-colored hair. Her fingers were black, covered in eldritch tattoos of what appeared to be burning otherworldly marshes that went all the way up her forearms.

A belch echoed from the corridor. "Unlikely," a man who looked to be around sixty years old entered the room, smiling. He beamed at the young halfling woman fondly, hugging her. "Jacynta! Good morning, my dear. So glad you could join me again."

He crossed to the table with Thuurvi and Thalmor seated at it, and tossed a leather journal on it, followed by a used quill with deep blue coloring, a messy glass jar of ink, a handkerchief, several coins, a loose bit of paper, and a small rust-colored mouse with overly large ears - which promptly scurried off the table into the contents of the storage around the edges of the room. "Oh dear, how'd you get in there?" he chuckled, walking over to pull out a mug from a shelf behind Kurst, who was still lying on the ground, his elbow over his eyes.

Thuurvi narrowed her eyes at the mouse as the man gestured to the halfling woman to join him at the table.

"My name is Aemon Grahame if you please," he sighed, sitting down across from Thalmor and pulling the craft of beer over to him. His skin was a soft red-chocolaty hew, very warm, and had clearly seen the sun. "I am the scholar who found the Xen’drik artifact in question." He scoffed, "‘artifact’..." shaking his head, he poured the beer from the larger craft into his mug, to find it had only a few drops left. "Odd that," he frowned, looking inside the craft as if there might be some alcohol still hidden in its depths. "It's a pillar. A stone…" Roderik handed him another craft of beer, "- thank you, Roderik. A pillar of stone. A stone pillar. Apparently, it comes from the town of Sylbaran," he brandished his now full mug of beer in salute to the room in general. He had a likability about him, and a playfulness that belied his age. His eyebrows raised as he spotted Thuurvi’s twisted shadow on the wall behind her before dismissing it with a shrug. "So...reason to celebrate!"

Jacynta eyed the bacon and the offered seat but remained standing. Distracted, she peered back over her shoulder into the ship where she had just come from after not seeming to see what she was looking for in the common area.

Aemon took a long pull from his mug. His close-cropped hair was a lovely dark shade with bits of grey, a large swoop of his forehead bald. He sighed with content, smacking his lips.

"Aemon," Thuurvi nodded at the dark-skinned man. "Thuurvi Muth-la-Zash, a Jhor'guuntaal of the Reaches, although my family was originally from the Marches," she said as she sipped her water.

"Kurst." Roderik snapped. When there was no response, he barked, "Custennin Grath!"

Kurst lurched up, entangled in his bedroll, his white legs on display under his nightshirt. "I'm up, I'm up!" he groused.

"A jorgun - I'm sorry…" Aemon leaned forward, stroking his neatly trimmed goatee that had gone almost completely gray, "a jo...jogunt -"

Kurst grunted, pulling on his pants, his tongue trilling on the 'r' in Jhorgun'taal. He looked remarkably like his brother if his brother needed a haircut, hadn't slept all night, and was two drinks in. "It means 'born of…" he stopped pulling his pants up and closed his eyes for a second, thinking, "...both bloods', or something like that."

Next to Kurst in the other bedroll on the floor, another man stretched and yawned, his mustache curling up at his cheeks. "'Two bloods'."

"Help yourselves."
Roderik set down a couple of plates of bacon, fried tomatoes, toasted muffins, and bright yellow butter. "Omast is right. It is 'two bloods'. Actually, correct me if I am wrong, my lady, it means 'child of two bloods', correct'?" He gestured welcomingly to Jacynta again to sit and join them.

Thalmor stopped writing for a moment, taking a swig of ale as he watched the warforged cook.

Amused, Thuurvi turned back to Aemon. "Yes, Roderik has it. 'Child of two bloods'. The Shadow Marcher orcs took in many humans long ago when none else would have them, and the admixture is a mark of pride in many parts of the Marches." Thuurvi availed herself of a plate as she spoke. "Tak, Roderik. I get so hungry when I'm off my beauty sleep schedule," she mumbled, relentlessly tucking into her food. "So how is it that a Xen'drik pillar winds up in the Reaches of all places?" Crumbs on the tabletop skittered away from her, wafted by unseen forces as she reached for a muffin. Her grey skin beautifully caught the sunlight beginning to come through the porthole windows, both warm and stormy-smoke adjacent to her blazing hair. "Were there Giant colonies established there in the past?"

"Um...colonies might be a strong word, but there's certainly evidence of Giantish construction, just up Blademark Hill."
Jacynta finally stepped into the room. "Well, Bloodmarch Hill, most people call it. Sorry, but did anyone see another halfling come through a minute ago? With red hair?"

"Yeah, he hopped on up to the deck,"
drawled Thuurvi. "Apologies for the term - I should be mindful that 'colonies' has all sorts of implications. Bloodmarch Hill, a colorful name. I'm sure I've walked it but don't recall that particular moniker."

Kurst and Omast rose and put away their bedrolls and the hammock. "On Bloodmarch hill the only real evidence of anything is the remains of the...foundation I guess...of a citadel that once stood there," Roderik said, a bit subdued. "I don't think it was giant-made, however. I'm pretty sure it was made by man. Before it was destroyed."

Jacynta climbed onto a chair next to Aemon, helping herself to a slice of his bacon. She seemed content to just listen to the morning conversation.

Thalmor’s face was stoic as he nursed his ale, listening to the half-orc woman chat with the others. His gaze rested on a particularly interesting piece of wall detritus, lost in thought.

"Destroyed?" Aemon questioned, "what happ-"

The hatch burst open with a bang. "Greetings all!" the red-haired halfling declared from the ladder. "My apologies if I was abrupt earlier, I seem to be averse to sleeping on an airship! Tuk Nimbleguts, 273rd of that name...at your service!" He delivered a sweeping bow with one hand, holding onto the ladder with the other.

Thalmor’s trance broke with a snort and ale came out his nose as the enthusiastic halfling barged in. Wiping it away roughly, he shook his head, before returning to his ledger.

Thuurvi chuckled at Tuk, but she was all about the bacon and tomatoes. "Mmph. Yer namsh Shpilled-yer-gutsh?"

"A stone pillar of giant-ish construction, originally from Sylbaran?"
Three queried, as he efficiently cooked food in the galley, deftly using their large fingers in place of more traditional utensils. "Most curious."

Tuk hopped down from the ladder, managing a wide smile as he spotted Jacynta. Taking a seat at the table, he grabbed whatever foodstuffs were within reach, stuffing a prodigious amount of food into his small frame.

"I do not recall any areas within the town where such a pillar might have resided," Thuurvi mused, taking another couple of pieces of bacon and grinning approvingly at Tuk.

"Is it magical or psionic in nature?" Three asked, cracking some eggs to fry. "Or does the stone hold only archeological significance?"

Aemon’s ears perked up and he grabbed a muffin and slathered on a thick helping of butter. "I don't think the pillar is psionic in nature. Or arcane, for that matter. Mind you, I'm no expert on either. I will say it holds power. Of what kind...I cannot say." Tuk listened to the discussion of the nature of the pillar being delivered to Sylbaran as he ate. Aemon looked around the table, picked up the plate of bacon, and peered under it before setting it down again. He called out to Engineer #3 in the kitchen, "I say, what are you called dear fellow? And do you have any preserves hidden back there? Fig perhaps?"

"My designation is Engineer #3, Mark II. For ease of reference and brevity, most I converse with end up addressing me as Three."
Three piped up from the kitchen, "And yes, Master Aemon, there is a basket holding assorted preserves and jams. Would you prefer a single selection or a variety?"

"Well let's have the whole basket, then,"
Aemon laughed, rubbing his palms together.

Omast disappeared back into the ship towards the sleeping quarters, and Kurst stepped into the kitchen joining Roderik, where they conversed quietly with one another, laughing occasionally. The energy in the room picked up while everyone enjoyed their breakfast.

Tuk spoke up around a mouthful of food, "Giantsh like the ol' shtuff made by th' ol' giantsh." He chewed a bit and swallowed, clearing his throat, "sorry...I've heard that the giants of Droaam revere the old Xen'drik giant sites. Might be a mistake putting something like that up with a town so close..." he finished, letting the statement hang in the air.

"Hmm, I suppose that's a fair estimation Tuk," Thuurvi nodded at him. "But giants are not monolithic, no pun intended. The giants I knew in Droaam tended to be reverent, but there's a spectrum. Not all are - some resent their past. Some are back-to-Xen'drik nationalist or speciesist types, and those are scary indeed."

She tapped her plate with her knife, thinking. "I suppose you'd put me on the 'cautiously reverent' part of the scale. I'm not one for enslaving elves, for instance." She made a face, shuddering, "even if they do odd things with their dead. And as for humans putting a town close to somewhere? That's what humans do. Expansionist empires or scurrying refugees, that's how my dear pinkish ancestors like to get into lands they probably shouldn't be occupying."

As the group ate, a middle-aged half-elf with a shaved head and crow's feet on his eyes stepped through the doorway, followed by a younger female half-elf, her dark brown hair offset by pale green eyes. "We should arrive about an hour before the midnight bell," he instructed, speaking to her and paying no mind to the other people in the room as the two of them headed up the ladder onto the deck. "I want us ready to turn around by midnight so we can arrive early in Fairhaven."

"So tell me,"
Aemon asked, wiping his mouth with a cloth and looking over everyone gathered, "I know dear Jacynta here, I've worked with her before. Are you all from Sylbaran?"

"Yes. From Sylbaran as much as from anywhere."
Engineer #3 replied. "I work with the smith and magewright, and assist with the town's defense as needed."

"My apologies, Three"
Thuurvi stated, "I think I've seen you around, but I'm usually running off to the woods. I didn't realize you were from Sylbaran."

"No apologies are necessary. My work typically keeps me close to Clamor, unless called on for patrol or defense work,"
Three responded. "I am very rarely to be found outside the walls or in the forests."

"And a good help he is at that,"
Roderik beamed at the warforged.

"Oh, of course. I've met Sara Morninghawk. A pleasure, Three." Thuurvi smiled placidly at the 'forged. "I'm sure you do fine work."

The sounds of clinking silverware and shifting chairs filling the room as everyone sat quietly for a moment, waiting for the others to respond.

Thalmor sighed in resignation. He leaned back, putting down the half-empty mug, and raised his eyebrows at the question. "Eh? Nay. I’m a banker. Only been to Sylbaran a few times." He watched the others’ expressions carefully. "An oath was made and broken," he stated as if that were enough explanation.

"All right, Thalmor, I'll chew.” Thurrvi queried, soaking up egg yolk with her muffin. “What sort of oaths are we talking about?"

Thalmor shrugged dismissively, "It’s my business, that’s all. Don’t know why I thought anyone in this lot would be in league with my quarry."

clucked Thuurvi. "I like to shout at ducks when I'm hunting them as well."

"A banker! Ha. And a magewright, always a good thing to have. What brings, or -"
Aemon nodded at Engineer, "- brought you to Sylbaran?"

"Only been in Sylbaran for a bit. I mainly grew up in Droaam and the Byeshk Mountains."
Thuurvi wiped her plate clean with some bread, giving Thalmor a little 'cheers' with her table knife and a closed-mouth smile.

Aemon turned to Tuk. "And where are you from, Master 273rd? What brings you to Sylbaran?"

Tuk took a drink, eying Aemon before answering.

"Well, I be from HalfHome, where all us Tuk's were born and bred," Tuk declared proudly, biting off a piece of buttered bread. "But...that's all gone now." He grabbed a slice of cheese and folded it with a piece of bacon into his bread, taking a moment. "Seems someone's got it out for us Tuks. Going ta ground, as they say, in Sylbaran. Hopin' to make meself useful..." Taking a big bite, he leaned back and looked at everyone, gauging them.

"HalfHome?" Thuurvi knitted her brows. "Can't say I recall it...something happened to it?"

Kurst sighed and sat back in his chair. "Not good things, that's for sure."

Roderik nodded. "The village was hit by a landslide. Freak accident. There were a lot of good people there. Decimated it, unfortunately. My condolences, Tuk."

Thuurvi smacked her brow. "Ah, 'Steeth. I recall the name now. Only heard rumors about it and nothing about its destruction. I'm truly sorry, Tuk. The Byeshk Mountains are beautiful, but damned if they don't eat up a number of lives each year." Thuurvi sighed, pondering. "Who's really from where they were from originally, though?"

"Eberron is a fascinating place. The world is alive...it lives, it breathes, we move about and migrate, things are connected in ways that we would never guess, and may never understand."
Aemon burped quietly, "excuse me," he apologized, reaching across the table. He picked up Thalmor's full mug of beer and placed it a few inches from where it had been sitting. "What connects things?" He grabbed Thuurvi's cup, and Tuk's cup as well, moving them on the table to different spots. "Are the Eldeen Reaches forested with deep ancient woods because the Wardens and that ancient talking tree are there? Or did the tree start telling stories because the woods are so thick and old, and that brought the Wardens of the Wood to that place?" He leaned back in his chair, interlinking his fingers over his belly.

"Dragonmarks, Manifest zones, the prophecy, even the Day of Mourning...if you find an ancient pillar in a far-off land that shouldn’t be there and return it to its home, what else might happen? How will Eberron change, and respond, and...adapt to such actions?" He chuckled whimsically, and gestured along the line of the beer mugs...on one end was Jacynta, on the other, the warforged Three stood in the kitchen area, with all of the mugs in the middle in a line. "How will Siberys respond? Or Khyber? What connects disparate people together in our world?"

Thalmor gaped as his ale was moved, opening his mouth before snapping it shut. He grabbed his ale and held it close, as another pocket of air moved the ship in an unnerving way. "Lad, some things ain’t for moving. Better to have left them be." He took a swig and gestured to the airship and surroundings, "damn thing shouldn’t exist for one..."

Thuurvi frowned at the mention of the Wardens. "What connects people and things? Strife and confusion, or so it seems. The whole thing is gone pear-shaped. A creation myth involving two males and one female is surely suspect to be either horribly wrong or horribly correct and absurd besides. As if menfolk of any species could create anything except spurts -" she tipped her cup over to spill a bit of drink on the table, "-of blood."

Reaching across the table to fetch his cup, Tuk observed the half-orc drily, "The womenfolk ain't been shy of spilling the blood either, I reckon’."

"Only fair to deliver what's been given, Tuk,"
replied Thuurvi. "Chivalry is dead and buried."

Roderik sighed. "Sylbaran has definitely had its share of blood spilled during the war."

"Roderik, I heard a bit about that,"
Thuurvi commiserated, "but I was safe in Droaam during the War."

Thalmor leaned forward, frowning as the ship creaked loudly. "As for Eberron -" he paused looking at Aemon, clearly not finished yet, "I know her well. She doesn’t like people poking where their noses don’t belong, does she?" He leaned back and took another swig from his mug, holding onto the thing with an almost iron-like grip.

"Many times connections exist without our awareness," Three leaned on the shelf in between the kitchen and the table, listening to the group discuss philosophy. "A seemingly random occurrence in one city may result in a tragedy across the continent. Most people are blind to these happenings, and will never know all that transpires around them. Some are more 'lucky' and will come to understand those connections. I do not yet know which is the greater mercy; awareness or ignorance."

The room sat in somber silence for a moment as Three’s words were considered.

Aemon chuckled, a huge smile on his face. "Well said," he lifted his mug of beer towards Engineer #3 and toasted. "To awareness..." he downed the mug in one long gulp, smacking his lips, "...and to ignorance."

"We have the afternoon to ourselves."
Aemon plunked his mug down, "I think we arrive later tonight -"

Roderik interjected, "The quartermaster said something about arriving at the eleventh bell tonight."

"Did he?"
Kurst muttered, eating his breakfast. "I must have missed that."

"...yes, we arrive at the eleventh bell."
Aemon nodded at Roderik, standing. "Right. I will be doing a presentation on the pillar around sunset. I imagine some politicians aboard will likely try to take credit. Until then -" he clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "- the day is yours to do what you will. Does anyone have anything they need to do? I know I could start with a...ah..." Aemon pointed at his empty mug and the empty craft of beer meaningfully, "...a bit of a starter. Anyone else have any plans?"

Thalmor sighed and relaxed. "It’s as good as any meal, Aemon," he raised his mug in salute.

"I have no pressing tasks. Most likely, I will assist with maintenance and cleaning on the vessel." Three said, washing the dishes up.

Tuk pondered, "I'll likely snag a bit o' a nap, as I says, sleep wasn’t comin' last night. Or I'll haunt the deck. Interesting view...more interesting conversations..." he trailed off mysteriously.

"Usually barley-water and tea for me, thank you. And I must go meditate to the gods in order to receive my sacred blessings of divine mercy for the day." Thuurvi said with an almost-pious expression on her face. Her lips pursed to hide her tusks, and she made her eyes puppy dog-wide for just a moment, before bursting out laughing. "Sorry. I can't lie to save my life. Nap, a round of song and cloud-watching on deck, and anything I can do to help without bothering the crew, that's what I have on the docket. Say, do warforged sing?"

Jacynta took a deep breath and let it out slowly, muttering, "I suppose now is as good a time as any." She continued in a more conversational tone, looking up at Tuk. "Before you go, Master Nimbleguts, there's a matter we should discuss. With some privacy, if we can get any."

Thuurvi raised an eyebrow at the halflings.

Tuk sipped his drink, nodding at Jacynta, "Sure, if ya like. But, I'm no Master…" Tuk smiled, "not yet at least."

Jacynta led Tuk into a corner of the room to speak with him in hushed tones.

"I'm not much good at this kind of thing, and I don't really know how to couch the news, so I'm sorry...and maybe you've heard already, I don't know, but -"

She paused to take a breath and break her rambling. "I knew one of your - I don't know, a cousin, maybe - in Xen'drik, and...he's dead."

Tuk rubbed his face with a hand at the news, shaking his head, "Ah, 'tis sad news Jacynta, but thank you. Xen'drik you say? Hmm, could have been Tuk The Seeker...or perhaps Tuk The Lost. Hard to say, we went all over."

Tuk considered Jacynta for a moment, "I'll let you in on a secret," he whispered, leaning closer. "Seems one of my cousins pissed off someone or something, and Tuks have been dying ever since. That landslide that took out my home? Deliberate." He spoke the last word slowly to let its meaning sink in.

Tuk smiled at her, "Thanks fer lettin' me ken about my cousin's fate, it stings but I appreciate it all the same."

Three looked over the group. "Do any of you require metalwork or maintenance on your equipment?"

Thalmor shook his head, grumbling, "Nay, this contraption is not to my liking. I’d stay below lest anyone have use of me." He stretched, looking a little unsettled, "an unlikely event, I expect, given that there wouldn’t be much use for a banker on an erm, airboat. But -" he raised a manicured finger, seemingly considering for a moment. "Should anyone wish to lose money in a game of cards or summat, I am certainly available to win it." He grinned for the first time, though it was hard to tell exactly, given the length and thickness of his black, wiry facial hair. His eyes glittered mischievously.

"If it's a game of chance yer after, I'm up for it!" Tuk beamed from the corner with Jacynta.

"No, I'd just as soon toss galifars right down the latrine. I can't fool people to save my life," Thuurvi exhaled.

"If the cards or dice are fair and balanced, I would be amenable to a game." Three approached the table. "I admit, most humanoids are unlikely to ascertain my mental States. Perhaps dice might be the most equitable chance for each to win," Three mused.

Aemon refilled his mug from Roderik and took another large swig.

Thuurvi wiped her eyes as a torrent of laughter escaped her. She picked up a leftover fork, eyes on the 'forged. "Three. Say this is a die," she dropped it casually on the table, still watching them as it whisked off to hit the wall behind Aemon, and clatter on the floor. "No dice games for me. But do enjoy."

Looking at the fork, then into his cup, Aemon glowed, "Roderik my boy, you brought me the good batch!"

"That seems like it would make things difficult, Thuurvi.”
Engineer #3 watched the fork bounce away, turning his eye-lenses back to the half-orc. “Is there something that can be done to alleviate this problem? Will that pose concerns for adventuring or working with you in the future?"

"Nothing need be done Three; thank you for your concern. I just try not to drop things. Fortunately, I don't live in Sharn."
Thuurvi grinned at the 'forged. "One learns to find value in one's flaws."

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