The Game of Kings

OOC: Contrary to popular opinion, the supernatural found via detect magic does not glow. Nevertheless, I apologize for the lack of clarity: the aura comes from an object the dwarf is wearing, located on his chest. Given Vhir's angle, he can't actually see the item, even if it were glowing.
 

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DM
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After going through the documents, Doral carefully puts everything back the way it was and then quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He then moves behind the kobold, makes sure the coast is clear, and then becomes visible again.
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Doral appears behind the kobold and motions Vhir to follow him topside. Once they are out of earshot of anyone, the half-elf says, "The dwarves are very intent on establishing a banking guild, and they are trusting the prince for now, but he is only a means to an end. Also, these dwarves are not high-ranking enough for the prince to negotiate with them during the evaluation of Port Verge. Because of this, they are meeting a higher ranking house member named Baranak of Dreadhold security, who will aid in the review of Port Verge's security. I see two ways we can work from here. First, we can ask that the dwarves help us return the old man, and in return we can promise their operations will be protected from future Blacksurf operations. This may appeal to them. Or you can somehow cause dissension in the ranks of these guild members by playing on dwarven vanity. How pleased must these dwarves be to have their own abilities questioned and to have to wait for a dwarf from Dreadhold of all places? Perhaps we can create a situation so volatile that the prince will be distracted from his prisoner. By the by... when you negotiate with them I would like to be present. Introduce me as your servant."
 

Bobitron said:
"Oh, it's nothing." She looks up to his face, puffy eyes betraying her emotion. "It's just that I'm so far from where I was only weeks ago, and I..."

The tears come back, weaker now but still heartfelt. She explains what happened on deck with Dragen.

"What have I gotten myself involved with? Is this the way of things?"
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Partash holds his right hand in front of his mouth. He is clearly disgusted by Glasia's story and contempt of Dragen's words shows in the way his eyes narrow. "What a horrifying story he told you, Miss... Mister Dragen surely lacks manners when talking to women. I would be careful in his presence, because he sure seems to have lost some of his sanity." He face changes to into a kinder and milder expression: "Remember, Miss Glasia, that just because one man has lost his faith the rest of us shouldn't do so as well. The divine forces that are at work in this world are as obvious as the arcane ones, so I can't see how he can deny the prescence of deities. Just hold on to your faith when everything else fails. That's what I usually do."

Partash reaches out, raises her chin and looks straight into her eyes: "Don't worry, Miss. I'm sure you'll do just fine and accomplish whatever you set out to do." He stands up and starts walking towards the door. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go have a little talk with our mutual 'friend', Mister Dragen..." Then he tries to locate Dragen and have a little talk with him.
 

Time passes and the ship sails ever onwards as its passengers trade tales, secrets, and plans; before the day begins in earnest the ship's bell rings, summoning crew and passengers to the galley for a breakfast of fresh-baked bread, still warm from the oven, and imported Thranish fruit. The captain, bleary-eyed, wanders into the dining room to filtch an apple. His head swivels to and fro a few times, eyebrows furrowed, and with a bite of the crimson fruit, steps back outside.
 

"Parlinor, please, no. Not now," Glasia pleads. "I don't want friction to destroy our group before things even start. I'll just avoid him for a while."
 

"Ah, breakfast..." Doral thinks to himself as he gives the departing captain a respectful nod. He decides that it would be best to enjoy the amnemities on the ship while he can.
 

Finishing his morning repast with a nip of wine won from a sailor amused by the archer's parlor tricks and stories, Dragen finally felt his sense of self returning. After a few days on the accursed vessel, his sea-legs threatened to return to him completely, a notion that wasn't altogether comforting.

Better to find yourself in the saddle, where falling off just means you're trampled and pretty nurses feed you with a spoon for the rest of your life.

Shaking off the thought, Dragen drifted from the galley and up onto the deck. After some debating between his desire for solace and his sense of self-preservation, coupled with a keen curiosity, Dragen walked up to the mass of ship-like constructions that made up the superstructure of the ship and began climbing carefully upwards. Perhaps people would leave him alone up here, and maybe he could get a better view of the surrounding waters as well.
 

Bobitron said:
"Parlinor, please, no. Not now," Glasia pleads. "I don't want friction to destroy our group before things even start. I'll just avoid him for a while."
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Partash looks back over his shoulder at the young lady. "Very well, I'll have that talk with Mister Dragen at another time then, but if he ever behaves so bluntly and rudely around you again, you tell me." He walks to the dining room to have some breakfast.
 

Those members of the passengers and crew who had yet to take their morning meal filtered in to the brightly lit dining room, and sought out a place to sit among their companions. Though it was a modest crewman’s fare, with large simple baskets of bread and fruit and pitchers of water and thick coffee placed throughout the wooden tables, the food was good and fresh, and satisfied the breakfasters.

To the obvious surprise of many crewmates, the reclusive dwarves all marched officiously in, and room was made for them at a table of their own. A few of the lay-dwarves looked disgruntled at the light fare, and called for sausage and something proper to drink. One of the head dwarf’s associates casually pulled a handsomely engraved whiskey flask from his pocket and poured some straight into his coffee.

Very soon they were chatting happily amongst themselves in dwarven, clearly quite comfortable and intent on spending a long and leisurely morning, until their notorious stomachs were completely filled with food and drink.
 
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Doral frowns to himself for a moment and wonders where Vhir is. He listens intently to what is being said at the table if he is near enough to do so. If he is not, he maneuvers himself to be by clearing his plate and getting up to ask the cook directly for more food. Afterwards he reseats himself closer to the dwarves, his back to them.
 

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