The Psionicle, Part XI


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Hmmm now you ask it, I actually don't have a clue. Hang on for a sec.

Ruth walks back over to the desk.

Excuse me again sir, but it seems that we are most likely gonna be charged per mile or something to get to our dsetination. So I was wondering if you had any clue to what the distance is between here and the lost Isle in miles? That would help us a lot.
 

The half-elf nods. "I can do that for you."

From beneath the counter, he pulls out a large rolled sheet of parchment and an angular device. He unrolls the parchment, and you can see that it is a drawing of the world. He then places one point of the device on a dot labelled "Cara'nor", and the other on the northern-most tip of the Lost Isle.

He considers the device for a moment.

"About 340 miles." He says. "Give or take 5 or 10 miles."
 


Jansson frowns in concentration, the look of strain he always wears when doing mathematics.

"So, that'd be... 8,160 gold to get there. I think we're going to have to find a ship, rather than an airship. Even the cheapest rate would be 4,580, once the docking fee was taken into consideration. We just can't afford that."
 

"Are these negotiable?" Shardorn asks the half-elf, indicating the postings.

He shrugs. "Depends upon the pilot. Some are willing to lower prices, others aren't. I imagine that - since the demand for air travel isn't all that great here in Kahasal - some of them would offer lower rates."
 



Don't look at me, I ain't what I'd call charming or subtle or something. The only reason why I get by is that the people who buys arms and armor aren't that charming and subtle themselves mostly.
 


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