For More Than Glory

Almedh returns to the tavern's main room, seeming more accepted among the patrons this time around. He looks over in Fleck's direction, and quickly changes the direction of his glances. He moves to sit at the bar, asking quietly for a drink.
 

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Valdir notices Almedh come in and nudges Fleck. "What about that one? He seems to have been smart enough to realize that he was backing the wrong play soon enough. Seems a bit more honorable and smart than that giant..."
 


Reckless said:
Almedh returns to the tavern's main room, seeming more accepted among the patrons this time around. He looks over in Fleck's direction, and quickly changes the direction of his glances. He moves to sit at the bar, asking quietly for a drink.
The barkeep nods, and says in Tradespeak, "Aye, one ale coming up. That was quite the fight, stranger. Where are you from? Not Mittendein, nor Caedmon. Them's what we usually get for Humans in this place, with the occasional riffraff from them barbarian upstarts, Argossea, to the north."

He pauses, fetching the ale and putting it in front of Almedh. "No charge. On the house. We took care o' them guardsmen that came, too. They don't come till the fighting's over. This time there weren't no bodies, so they was eager to be off. Less paperwork." He laughs at his humor, though it doesn't translate well to Tradespeak, clearly. Perhaps it would have been a play on words, had he delivered it in Mittendeinish.
 

Fleck looks from Valdir to Almedh, then back to his drink, then back to Almedh. He tries to judge the stranger, but ends up with mixed opinions. On the one hand, the desertman had helped the mage at first, and knocked Fleck unconscious. On the other hand, there had beem a distinct lack of lethal intent in the blow, and if Almedh had wanted Fleck dead, he would have succeeded. He had also left the party alone since the mage had left, and he tells good stories.

He looks back at Valdir, shrugs noncomitally, and turns back to contemplating his drink, when something seems to occur to him. He sets his drink aside and flops his book open on the table, scribbling out one symbol and replacing it with another, nearly identical. "Of course! The control is from the wings, not the tail. How'd I miss it?" His voice is fast and low, as it always is when he's working. He mutters half in Tradespeak, half in gnomish, a few more moments before he connects two final points in the bizarre diagram, and only then looks up at his companions, returning to the present. "Er. Sorry. Revelation." Without looking, he sets his pen down - directly into his ale. Sheepishly, he shakes it off, returning it to his pocket.
 
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Valdir shrugs at Fleck's lack of opinion on Almedh. Finishing his ale, he gets up and glances over to Rolf. "I'm heading out to camp. I've had enough of roofs and streets and such for one day. You're welcome to keep me company if you like. Could use an extra set of eyes, we've been followed at least once."

((BTW, sorry if some of my posts don't match what went on during the game.))
 
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"All right, let's go." Rolf steers Argus out and gets him mounted on a horse, and leads the horses to camp, accompanied by Valdir.

At camp, while waiting for Argus to snap out of it and Pup to come back from getting into whatever trouble Pup has gotten into, Rolf goes through the mercenaries' saddlebags to see if there was anything worthwhile in them.
 

While Rolf is otherwise occupied with taking care of Argus, Valdir keeps a close eye on his surroundings. As has become customary since the last time he was followed, he stops somewhat inside the cover of the trees, backtracks around and watched the area to ensure nobody follows. Confident that this hasn't happened, Valdir hides Rolf's and Argus' trail, climbs a nearby tree and treestrides back to camp.
 

Fleck watches the woodsmen go; suddenly he and Kirran are the only ones left at the table. He clears his throat. "Kirran... I'm sorry I snapped at you, you just took me by surprise is all. For the future, try to stay where I can see you until I recognize you. I don't exactly like being held down. Not your fault, and no hard feelings, but so you know." He leans in closer to the halfling, conspiratorially. "I've been working out new spells, and I think I've got one that'd make for my most powerful potion yet. Imagine what we could do with a draught of flying...."
 

Kirran has been watching Almedh thoughtfully for most of the conversation, rolling his wooden coin over and over in his fingers. Finally at Fleck's direct address he pauses and looks over at the gnome, his eyes glinting humor. "For the future, try not to get kicked in the face while I'm not visible. It makes it difficult for me to stay where I can be seen." His chuckle is at first quiet, but at Fleck's conspiratorial comment it deepens. "Flying, eh? Finally give us some height on the rest of 'em -" - he gestures around the bar - " - and wouldn't that be amusing?"

Having said this, he frowns again in thought. "What I was thinking, though, is that there's got to be some way to keep you from getting knocked around like that. I mean, besides the obvious problems, it makes such a mess and all. I wonder..." He shrugs. "Oh well. Worry about when it's necessary and not before."
 

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