Spugnoir seems to ignore Maloria’s interjection as he stares at Ora Rusk. The initial look of bafflement on his face darkens and his usual, easygoing nature withdraws. He suddenly takes the extinguished torch he’d carried from the bowels of the dungeon and breaks it over his knee before throwing the broken halves into the tallgrass to the side of him, the dead man’s horse shuffling its hooves nervously underneath him and says, "Well this is just rich; you know that? All of you… You’re really something else!"
"You know, I’m not the only newcomer to this party! You’re aware of that, right? From everything I’ve gathered in barely a day since I’ve met Eltrezar, you outfit have allowed myself, a thief, this dwarf, and that mage to join you group as new companions to a party that has begun to develop a reputation for coming back without everyone you left with, and yet this cleric talks about trust! From what I understand, the moment you lot rode into that village you had a half-dead dwarf with you, and you've been dragging half dead dwarves behind you ever since!
But you lot are worried about trusting me? And from the moment we started this endeavor I’m the only one that’s been subject to constant suspicion!!!
"You’ve known this thieving half-orc for little longer than myself!" Spugnoir gestures to Luban. "You’ve caught him in the act of trying to steal gems and other items of your shared income, and who knows what else he’s stolen from under our noses that we didn’t notice by the way, if he’s as good as he says he is at what he is, and yet you accuse ME of disloyalty?
"And this mage is brought on to assist you with your endeavors from an arcane approach, yet she’s functionally incapable of casting a single spell without a scroll in her hands. --A SCROLL, I remind you, that was the ONLY payment I required for my clearly superior arcane services!-- "And yet when this AMATEUR reveals she has not a single arcane word inscribed upon a slip of parchment for which she needs perform the duties for which she has been employed, not a single one of you made remark of any suspicion of HER motives! Yet SHE casts doubt om my motives? I’ll remind you that all this mage has done for you is turn a half-dead dwarf into a floating disc, and were it not for me and my Sleep magic, you all would be getting hacked to bits by countless guards right now!"
The man looks back to Ora… "Why did I leave with the mute in tandem, you ask? What in the planes of the Abyss would you have me do?" He holds his arms out in a self-depreciating gesture of "take a look at me", then pulls his dagger from his belt and waves it about in lackadaisical circles. "Would you have preferred I stand in his way? Threaten the broken-nosed brute with a poke from my little knife here before he cleaves me in two with his longsword? Did anyone else notice the speed with which the man could send multiple arrows from his bow?"
"Ah! Well actually this makes some sense," he says suddenly, as if on another train of thought, shifting his eyes to Eltrezar while still speaking to Ora and the rest of the group. "I forgot what Eltrezar warned me of... You folk have a habit of losing your front-line fighters," he looks at the fallen Thurig, "and expecting your learned spellcasters to act as brutes; treating them as cowards should they fail to meet your expectations."
"So to answer your question , Miss Rusk," he says turning back to the mage, "The plan was that having seen the wagon man betray us to the gnolls, I would act as a newcomer with no skin in the game one way or the other, and HOPEFULLY he would allow me to abandon you as well. To my surprise that's exactly what he did, and I HOPED that in the ride back I might cast a spell of Sleep on him, tie him up, and either wait for you to catch up with me or continue on with the wagon man to Hommlet and turn him in to the VILLAGE MILITIA." Spugnoir looks pointedly at Maloria when he says this. "The proper authorities, if you will."
"Instead, you intercepted him and put him down for his treachery, and lucky for us I still had a Sleep spell for the guards that caught up with us, so I’d say I’ve certainly pulled my own weight today.
"Here’s the thing," he says to Ora. "I had HOPED we’d find a working relationship, despite the fact that you came to this job ill-equipped and incompetent. I went so far as to offer you my sole income for this expedition in order to allow you to perform your duties, and you treated my scrolls as if they were toys for your consumption and then accuse me of treachery!
"I was thinking that had we managed to find a compatible working relationship I would have split any scrolls we found half-and-half after we returned to the inn, but despite my generosity you’ve accused me of ulterior motives. You’re incompetent, and as far as I’m concerned you're a grifter, much like the half-orc that’s bent on stealing your earnings as well."
Spugnoir turns to Eltrezar. "My friend... Your group is broken at best. They’re brigands and highwaymen at worst. They shun you and treat you as a coward because you don’t fill the roll of their fallen fighters. Leave them and join me and we’ll set out together. I’d like to spend a week transcribing a spell from your book to mine and I’d be willing to let you do likewise, partner. Stick with them, though, and you’ll be dead within a tenday, mark my words.
"And I wonder," Spugnoir looks around, a look of feigned curiosity on his face, and then continues. "For a group such as yours, who seem lose a new companions every time you set out, how will it look now, when you return from these ruins one man short, yet again? Eh? And a man, probably well known by the village as a whole this time, I would say? A man who serves men of repute within the village.
"In any case, that isn’t my problem, though I’m sure I can’t recommend to others that joining your group is a safe or pleasant prospect, should you be in need of a spellcaster’s services in the future or anyone in search of work comes asking me for referrals.
"Having said my piece, I believe my work with your party has reached it’s conclusion. Miss Rusk, you’ll return to me the remaining three scrolls which you’ve as yet failed to waste in creative ways, and I’ll be on my way, though I promise to return the horse and cart to the Trading Post with news of their hired man’s demise." He extends his hand, waiting for Ora to give him the scrolls.
