Chapter Three - Return to the Mournland

Torhak’s coin sings as it spins through the air. Roz smirks and let’s it continue its path. The silver passes through the left eye of the Titan’s mask. It rattles around inside the large metal helm and the sound draws the attention of a few of the patrons. As the sound settles, it drops out of the bottom and into a small shot glass with a ringing clink.

The few men that turned, whoop and toast the minotaur with their ale. "Couldn’t make that shot again if he tried!", one says to the other at his table. A couple toss a few pieces of copper trying to duplicate Torhak’s throw. Roz pipes up, "I’m keeping everything you toss as tips, you stingy lot!", she brings Torhak another drink, "This one’s on the house.", she says with a wink.

Laulalith’s coin hits the rim of the eye and it bounces around the rim for a second before balancing precariously, seemingly ready to fall out. However, it also clatters into the mask. The elf is able to convincingly sell that she made the theatrical looking throw on purpose.

Several others also catch on and try to make throws of their own. As Laulalith leaves the tavern, Roz is trying to keep the new flying coin situation handled.

Vice arrives at the market with plenty of time before Belaluur closes up shop. Draev Shaldor, the old miser broker is perusing ledgers in the background. Irullan Karnach looks to have packed up early.

"Yes, of course. I can have a message off first thing in the morning. I’m sure Lady d’Cannith would like to have her driver back.

She figures the cart would likely be in town just after lunchtime.

The Salvation Times’ gnome proprietor is alone in his office as Vice arrives. "It’s a little late, but it’s a simple enough request. It won’t get sent off till the morning rail leaves."

The gnome scribbles ‘Kyzire’ and notes his shop address in New Cyre. "Couldn’t tell you when it’ll be back. That’ll be twenty-five gold if you want to send it all the way by lightning rail. Or, thirty-five silver the old-fashioned way."

Meanwhile, the rest of the group arrives back at the hall. It’s long been abandoned to the spectres and undead within. A giant, red and gold shield is in the final stages of being set above the massive hall doors by a little automaton and a few of the townsfolk. "move the shield to the left… the shield is leaning to the right…", his monotonic voice seems to be confusing his poor helpers.


Inside the large hall, they find a short, slender, half-orc woman, named SheK, quickly packing up her gear. "I apologize, 37. I’m being called away again." she says with a loud sigh. "I hope we will cross paths soon.", she looks wistfully over the town toward the Grey Mists. "They still call to me.."

She pauses in silence for a moment, "Keep the maps safe for me. I will be needing those back… I will be keeping the boots.", SheK clicks her heels together to show them off one more time. "Kleber joined Armat, but left the ring. He also said we, or rather you.. should get that staff checked out. Armat thinks there’s more to the crystals in it."