Sarr - Turn 196

“Hmm... How did you acquire your Freemans Ring?” enquires Rendar of Romus.

“Ah now that is a tale,” says the innkeeper, “and one that would require a couple of hours by the fire drinking my Mecurial Brandy. Let us just say a Master owed me his life and the ring was my reward.”

“What liberties does it entitle you to in the city?” asks Rendar. “Well I can own a business, go where I please, within reason of course as in some places our kind are just not permitted.”

There is that familiar glint in his eyes as Beran looks at the drink sodden chosen one. “Looks as though we have found ourselves a sponsor if we play this right,” he hisses to Sarr before then calling over Dakvar.

“I think you should leave this one of the chosen to me, Beran,” states Sarr, “I have an idea that may appeal to him.” His eyes narrow as he looks at Dakvar, “Don't get too carried away with your cursing, I think I might have a long term relationship about to blossom. I am sure he will help all of us as time goes on though. Oh and about the money, do you want me to settle the bill now, or later......”

With a last smile at Beran, Sarr strolls over to the chosen one and shouts to the barman, “A beer and whatever my friend here wants.”

“Don’t you find that hair stuff disgusting,” slurs Arkania Vundarthis, Ark to his friends, “I could never stand having that stuff on me, urgghh.” Sarr smiles as he sups from his tankard, Dakvar having taken a place at the bar next to them from where she can deliver her powers.

“A strange city this place appears to be,” says Sarr conversationally, “maybe we could help you in turn for some guidance on how we could avoid offending those in charge.”

“Lose the hair,” comes the reply, “it offends me.”

The chosen one then laughs as if he has made some form of joke. Sarr laughs politely and keeps talk to try and find out what he does and why he comes to this inn.

“So you see,” says Sarr to Beran and the others, “Ark over there claims to be immortal and he drinks to try and blot out the memories of all his lost loves and dead friends. Seems he used to be a great physician and now he just neuters human slaves of weak stock for the money to allow him to keep coming in here. I think he would be willing to help us if we can keep him in enough money for drink.”

Beran calls over Romus and asks him to set up the meeting with the foot washer of the Grand Vizier. Romus asks about the promised 100’os and Beran tells him, “The cash will be forthcoming on a successful conclusion to the meeting. If he is here in the afternoon then perhaps the meeting can be arranged for then.”

“He normally comes here in the early evening and leaves in time for the Grand Vizier’s ablutions for the night,” explains Romus. “I’ll tell him you wish to speak with him when he arrives.”

“Well?” asks Beran who has just finished stretching out his bat wings which are now almost to his wrists when fully out.

Morthilian sits back from the table in their room and explains what she has discovered about their various items:

ARMOUR OF THE PALE – Acts as normal armour except when faced with anything Pale, when it becomes as [+1] and actually offers protection as normally Pale can pass through armour, searing soul and flesh.

HELM OF PALE SIGHT – Allows the user to see Pale in all forms, useful when trying to spot invisible pale entities or those who have come onto the mortal realm and have taken another form.

TOME ON WEATHER CONTROL – Details the magical chants and ceremonies for calling up different weather conditions. The caster must obviously be outside (Average cost is 300pts but it does depend on how far you wish to change the weather and over what sort of area)

UNKNOWN POWER SILVER TORC – Torc of Telekinesis. Allows the wearer to move objects, the smaller the object the easier and faster it can be moved.

Dakvar enters with Rafalas and ‘shooes’ them out so that she may perform her ceremony of permanent 'dark' blessing upon the fighter.

“How do you feel?” Dakvar asks and the apparently physically unaffected Rafalas admits that he does feel different.

“I feel warm,” he says and the next thing the two of them know, the sheets on the nearby bed start to smoulder.

Dakvar quickly pours out the water jug on them and look suspiciously at Rafalas.

“I think we need to try some tests out on you,” she tells him.

“…and shen I shed, It fell off! he muss ‘ave been a leper!”

Sarr laughs drunkenly at Ark’s story, the fifth in a line of amusing anecdotes of professional misconduct and potential blackmail material.

“Shat’s a good one,” he says, “go on you muss tell anuvv …” Romus interrupts, “Thought you’d like to know but Kaminus the Footwasher has just come in.”

Rendar who has been watching Ark with his third eye, heads off upstairs to fetch Beran and inform him of the arrival and also of the fact Ark seems to be of the neutral persuasion.

By the time Beran comes down, Kaminus has been waylaid at the bar by Sarr and Ark, Sarr slapping him on the back and insisting he buy him a drink.

“Ah Kaminus,” says Beran as he prises him away from the drunkards at the bar. He makes sure he has his favourite drink in his hand and guides him to a quiet corner to discuss business whilst Forlurk keeps watch.

Sarr watching them go through the ever-moving head of inebriation and indicates for the sober Crantor to join them.

“Well Ark,” he slurs, turning back to his new drinking buddy, “you seem a good man really, jush a little unlucky. How do you fancy joining my band of merry, (hicc!!) men?”

“Why not!” says Ark, slapping Sarr on the back and then getting all close and conspiratorial with him.

“On one condishun,” he whispers.

“Whash dat?” asks Sarr.

“You all shave your headsh!”

Crantor sits one side of Kaminus whilst Beran sits the other side along with Rendar.

“We have access to an eyewitness,” explains Beran, “and damning records that show that Lord Rofric has been cheating the Emperor for a long time of his rightful dues. You seem to be the right man to mention this to the Grand Vizier and earn yourself some money in introducing us to him, if he is interested, which I'm sure he would be in something so valuable as this.”

“Go on,” says Kaminus, his interest having been pricked.

“If you tell him about this,” continues Beran, “and he is interested, then when can you come back and arrange a meeting for us - there's hard cash in it for you and I'm sure that your master would show his appreciation as well.”

Beran leaves a little pause to allow it to sink in and adds, “Well what do you think?”

As Kaminus agrees to the proposition and arranges to let Beran know the outcome tomorrow night, Rendar watches the astoff through his third eye and finds that the aura shows him to be truthful if a little self-centred.

“Even if that getsh brokun?!” slurs Sarr, impressed by what he has heard so far.

“Not a problum,” continues Ark, “there’s not a bone I can’t mend or an ailment I can’t treat. But thatsh all behind me now. Ballsh! Thatsh where the money is now, in ballsh!”

Leaving Sarr and Ark to continue into oblivion, several members of the two parties head off up to bed, their minds still swimming from the rumours of political intrigue they have heard, mainly concerning Tornium Sharakornal, Head of Interior Discipline. It seems current talk is that he is spending more time than would be deemed appropriate with one of his human slave girls, rumours are rifle of a child be her and that me might even be… in love with her!

“What in the…”

“Where are we supposed to sleep?”

“How did all…”

Dakvar lets the comments ride over her and trying to ignore the blackened and burnt state of the room, the beds, the linen and pretty much all the furnishings, she explains.

“We were just conducting some experiments into Rafalas's state to find out what power he seems to have been blessed with.”

“As you can see, when he gets angry or nervous he causes things to… er… well… ignite. It is early days yet but I feel confident it will make an effective weapon.”

The rest of the party are not really listening as they all head into Spawn of Sarr’s room and scrounge what floorspace, linen and pillows they can.