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Message: <blockquote data-quote="pacdidj" data-source="post: 5651682" data-attributes="member: 86793">Between Sharpe's outbursts and the hubbub over Prime's inner workings and dispositions, Mab can tell she's not likely to drum up much interest in cartomancy and palmistry with this crowd. Her hopeful smile turns a bit crestfallen, and she shuffles over the bar to order an iced tea and a bourbon."Fortune-telling just isn't what it used to be," she gripes, setting the spirits down on the bar in front of Tristram, who begins to greedily lap the sour mash whiskey from the shot glass. "Must be this economy, what with dragon horde futures declining and piracy derivatives on the rise. Don't know how I'm supposed to raise the money for my neffy's treatments when all the spare dragon gold has to go to fancy new magics to fend off all the bazzlebaums, greebles, and other fell beasties."Squeezing a lemon wedge into her tea, she takes a seat at the bar next to her comrade in arms. "Hello Max dearie," she says to the warlord. "Oooh, I see you've got old Vlassick's head mounted up there. You know it looks better on the wall than I would have thought. So what did you do with your share of the spoils?"</blockquote>