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Hearing the screams from the next room, Honus fears the worst.
"Fahim! Aid the rest!"
This one is unusually agile. It keeps avoiding my attacks. I will give one more swing, then Kretchmoor's man will have to finish the job. I need to be at my allies' sides.
He let's loose a guttural cry as the steel arcs overhead and slashes deep into the putrid flesh of the ghoul. Without pause to gauge whether the creature has been put down for good, Honus turns and sprints out the door.
Current HP: 5/11
Current AC: 18
Current CMD: 16
Active Conditions: none
The sword bites true, nearly hacking right through the neck of the ghoul, dropping it to the ground in a meaty thud. The other guard let's out another bellow, recoiling, eyes wide.
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Mexus breathes heavily and his eyes are wide as the undead hoard continues to push forward. He is clearly taxed, as sweat beads down his forehead, but few threats are as motivating as that of death by the hands of the dead. Mexus mentally reaches out for the magical energy stored in the ornate dagger he holds in his hand. As he connects with that energy, he begins to shape it to open a small portal at the dagger's tip. He concentrates on the fires of the soul furnace in Phlegethon, and then make a quick jerks of the dagger in a slight cutting motion. As he does, a pencil thin rip in the very fabric of reality is left in its wake, and a sheet of superheated soul fire pours out like a rippling plane of liquid glass. As it jets forward, the swath of soul fire expands, barely missing Alahazra to his right, and spreading to hit both ghouls in the abdomen. The flames continue past the gouls for another five feet, rippling and burning around them like a living stream actively seeking out its course. The flames eventually spread to create an arc a dozen feet or so wide behind the ghouls, and then the even the energy in the dagger is spent, and the portal seals itself, as reality heals the wound Mexus inflicted upon it. Exhausted, Mexus staggers back a few steps.
The ghoul directly before Mexus sees the flames coming a split second before they roar through the air, and ducks, such that only its shoulder is singed. The other takes the flames full in the chest, yet both roar their fury and anger.
Alahazra takes a five foot step back, stumbling and cursing, and calls out to the divine energies that course through her, so that red light engulfs her frame.
The two ghouls surge forward attacking Alahazra with all their might, snapping and rending with claws and fangs.
Somehow Alahazra weathers the storm of attacks with but a new gash opening up on her bared thigh.
The ghoul by the main door throws itself at the guard.
Even though the wound the guard suffers is slight, his body locks up, muscles straining, eyes bulging, and he crashes rigid to the ground.
The ghoul bounds over the fallen man and straight into Fahim.
The other guard by the ghoul Honus had slain moves to the doorway, clearly terrified, to sight down the long distillery to where more undead are fighting.
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Fahim takes a step back as the ghoul charges him. He then hurls one of his two freshly made bombs at it, hoping these have more success than the other batch he made.
[Dice= "Lamp Oil" Misfire]1d20[/dice]. On a 1-10 the bomb fails to ignite.
[dice= "Lamp Oil" Attack (Ranged Touch)]1d20 + 7[/dice] to hit the target’s touch AC.
with 1 falling short and 2 through 8 rotating around the target clockwise.
and 5 splash damage to anyone in the adjacent squares.
Honus' blade bites deep into the ghoul's arm, drawing a pained shriek from its maw.
It immediately whips around, bringing all its attacks to bear on the bold warrior.
None however are able to pierce his armor.
Both ghouls throw themselves at Alahazra.
It's devastating. The first ghoul punches its clawed hand so deeply into Alahazra's stomach that blood splatters out across it's forearm, its talons shredding and tearing as it forces its arm in deeper, jerking it forward until its buried up to the elbow in Alahazra's body.
Before she can do more than gasp, her blind eyes shockingly wide, the second ghoul tears its claws across her throat, destroying her windpipe, severing her aorta, and nearly beheading her in the process.
Alahazra doesn't even have time to scream. She goes down, thumping to the distillery floor, and both ghouls lift their heads and stare at Mexus, blood flecked and splashed across their sallow hides as they hiss in hunger.
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Finding nothing of immediate use on Kretchmoor's corpse, Mexus curses under his breath, "maelephant manure!" As he stands and sees Alahazra cut down, Mexus's tail pulls forth a spare dagger from his belt. As bile rises in his stomach from equal parts rage and fear, he shifts his bonded dagger to his off hand, and he takes a step forward. His tail places the throwing dagger in his hand, and he lines up the shot, hoping beyond hope that he can somehow survive this massacre.
Honus' savage swing drops the ghoul he's fighting by simply shearing its head right off its shoulders.
Charging forth, Fahim's dagger lodges itself in the thigh of another ghoul, while Mexus' blade flies perilously close to the third ghoul's head as it closes with him.
For all its fury, none of its attacks manage to get past Mexus' mystical armor, each blow causing the translucent full plate to momentarily appear and ripple as it deflects the attacks.
The second ghoul leaps in, however, growling savagely at Mexus as it lunges in to bite.
It's fangs sink deep into Mexus' arm, grating across bone before it tears free along with a hunk of muscle. Blood sprays. The pain is incredible. Mexus collapses to the ground.
The guard that had fallen, paralyzed on the floor, groans, shakes his head, grabs his sword, and woozily stands. "Lord Kretchmoor? Lord Kretchmoor!"
Alahazra lies broken on the floor. Blood pumps feebly from her slashed neck. She coughs weakly, trying to clear her flooded windpipe. Blinks. The blood that pumps from her stomach is ebbing. Each pump of her heart sending less and less blood out onto the floor. Her blind eyes, Honus could swear, are locked on him. Pleading. Begging.
Fading.
Honus blade drags down the ghoul's flank, opening flesh and muscle to the bone, a wound so grievous that the creature goes down, frothing and clawing at the planks of the floor, tearing up splinters and gnashing its teeth in defiance of the death that almost immediately then claims it.
Alahazra gives one last shudder, and then the pale light that has always illuminated her milky white eyes dims and goes out.
Fahim's dagger just misses the ghoul, flying over its head by half an inch. It draws the ghoul's attention though, and it steps forward, rounding Mexus to attack the turbaned alchemist.
The guard, having gained his feet, see Fahim and Honus tackling the ghoul, and with a curse at the dead commander at his feet, leaves the distillery, heading back outside.
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Seeing his friends savaged by the undead strikes fear in his heart and gut, but all is not yet lost. Honus strikes out at the last remaining ghoul, knowing full well the brevity of the situation and what will happen if he fails.
If I fail, everyone dies because of me.
He swings...
Current HP: 5/11
Current AC: 18
Current CMD: 16
Active Conditions: none
The ghoul wheels on the lone standing warrior, ducks under his blade, and attacks.
The blows tear through Honus armor, shredding his flesh and splattering blood across the floor. Honus feels his vision go dark. With a groan, he staggers, drops his blade, then collapses to the floor.
For a long moment the ghoul just stands there, blood dripping from its claws. Alahazra lies dead at its feet. Fahim frozen, eyes wide, each and every muscle locked. Mexus on death's door, unable to move, barely conscious. Honus' life blood spills out onto the ground.
The ghoul licks its lipless maw, tongue thick and vile, and then squats down to feast on the most bloodied of prey. It reaches down, lifts one of Alahazra's leg's, and bites down into the bare flesh with savage hunger.
The blood stops pumping from Honus' wound. He groans, unconscious, and the ghoul lifts its head sharply, narrowing its alien eyes as it stares at the fallen warrior. When Honus doesn't make another sound, it lowers its head to continue feasting.
A quavering voice calls down from the length of the distillery. The soldier who had remained in the entrance to the stillroom steps forward, his longsword shaking in his hand.
"Iomedae guide my hand. Though my will be weak, my faith is strong. I - I will not falter." He advances, face pale as milk, teeth chattering. He's young. Barely seventeen. Eyes wide, he stares at the ghoul, convinced that he is marching toward his death.
The ghoul whips its head up again, and hisses, a low venomous sound. With a savage snarl it bounds forward, charging toward the soldier.
The young man desperately waves his sword before him, causing the ghoul to shy back at the last moment, it's fangs clacking on empty air.
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As the paralytic enzymes in the ghouls saliva run their course within Mexus's body, he begins to feel the first tingling of sensations return to his limbs.
If it eats me now, I'm going to feel it. Though, the pain might make me pass out so I don't have to watch it eat me ... it's a petitioner's choice. Enough thinking; time to give 'em the laugh.
Mexus gingerly pries himself to his unsteady feet and tries not to fall as the blood rushes from his head and his vision blurs and spins.
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The sickening sounds of the ghoul gorging itself on Alahazra's flesh fill Fahim's ears as he lays on the ground paralyzed.
This is not how it was supposed to happen. We were supposed to be victorious, not sprawled on the ground, each waiting our turn to be devored. Oh poor Alahazra. I hope you find the peace in the afterlife you could not find here.
Salty tears drip down Fahim's otherwise frozen features as the monster continues to feast. Eventually, Fahim's fingers begin to twitch.
Blessed Sarenrae, I can move again.
Fahim carefully tilts his head up to look at his companions and see if he is the only one left alive, like he fears.
Fahim feels somewhat nauseous, but whether that is from all of the gore or the hyper-detailed vision his mutagen gives him is unclear. Regardless, what he sees remains the same. His three companions lay motionless, covered in blood, and drained of life.
"Iomedae guide my hand. Though my will be weak, my faith is strong. I - I will not falter."
Brave fool. You'll just add yourself to the dead. It is clear I am no fabled Abdula either. Still, if I cannot live a hero's tale, I will, at least, die a hero's death
to stand up silently without drawing attention.
Fahim carefully moves toward the ghoul to get within throwing distance.
The youth is clearly outmatched. Pale, shaking, holding his blade with both hands, he gives ground before the terrible ghoul, which snaps and claws and snarls as it seeks to rend the soldier limb from limb.
"Iomedae! The youth's voice is a clarion call in the darkness of the distillery. "Aid your servant! Guide my hand!
Fahim sees a pale white light glitter and envelop the blade, a soft glow of divine glory. The youth's eyes go wide, and with a cry he brings the sword scything through the air.
The blade slices cleanly through the ghoul's neck as if it were air. It's blood smeared head flies into the air, the body collapsing suddenly, the head hitting the floor with a wet thud, and rolls a few feet before stopping, facing Fahim, eyes open and staring blindly at nothing.
The young soldier staggers, and then stares wide eyed at his blade as the glow fades. He blinks, stunned, and looks past it to where Fahim stands.
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Mexus sways back and forth as he takes in the scene ... slowly.
What is that accursed hammering? I can barely think! ... Is it ... it's my owned damned heart. I need some willow bark ... wait there's a ghoul about ... no that mercenary killed it ... I wonder if he needs a job ... the society might be able to use him ... where's Alahazra? ... oh yeah, the ghoul ate her ...
Mexus spins to his left and promptly vomits. Greenish liquid with bits of jerky mix with Alahazra's blood that has smeared across the distillery floor. Mexus almost slips as he wretches, but his tail shoots out to counter balance at the last second, preventing him from falling into the pool of awful.
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Fahim gapes in disbelif at what just happened. He is so filled with awe that he doesn't even notice Mexus stand up and be sick.
Maybe the gods are listening. However, I need to keep this young man off his balance lest he remember why he came here in the first place.
"Good job young man. A true hero! You have saved us all, saved this TOWN! But there is still work for heroes, like you, to do."
to win the favor of the soldier.
"We must go outside together to face down anymore ghuls and protect the townsfolk from harm. While we are there we can look for a healer to see to both your men and mine. With your holy blade, and my potions, we cannot fail."
Please let them be alive. Please.
The young soldier nods, clearly overwhelmed and heartened by Fahim's suggestions. He swallows, holds his blade almost reverently before him, and leads Fahim outside into the chaos that has engulfed Railford.
Cottages bear smashed doors and smears of blood, while here and there survivors stagger about bearing hideous wounds. Kretchmoor's remaining few soldiers have joined forces with Dalard's own men, and a few knots of fighting still persist about the town.
The ghouls, however, don't stand a chance. Having learned their lesson and regained the initiative, the men fire arrows from a distance at the undead monsters, and within minutes they are brought down.
The townsfolk are stunned. Gnawed corpses lie in the streets. Wailing and hoarse yells of panic and despair float in the air. Dalard marshals the men, and begins giving orders in his old soldier's voice.
The injured are brought into the inn. The dead are carried outside of town to be cremated. Kretchmoor's soldiers are disarmed, and locked inside a cottage while the town deliberates what to do with them.
As darkness falls, Dalard summons Fahim and Mexus to join he and Becher in the distillery. Alahazra lies shrouded to one side, the decision with what to do with her corpse left to the party members. Honus has been taken to the inn to receive medical care.
Weary, face blood smeared and haggard, Dalard claps each of you on the shoulder.
"Thank you. If it hadn't been for your help, Becher here would've died. The soldiers and ghouls would have destroyed our town. Things are bad, but they could have been much worse."
Becher nods. "I can't thank you enough. I - my sincere condolences for your friend."
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Mexus struggles to stay standing as Becher claps him firmly on his shoulder, his whole body awash in pain from his wounds. After clenching his jaw and wincing from friendly blow for a seconds after he regains his balance, Mexus manages to reply, "We have all lost a great deal. Your friend and other townsfolk too. ... Hopefully the future that you and others have here will be worth the sacrifices made by those that have been lost." Mexus is obviously exhausted by this ordeal, and his gaze is unsteady and distant.
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Fahim nods solemnly at the loss of Alahazra.
"The world is a darker place without her. But we all must leave this world sometime, and the difference we make while we are here is how we will be judged in the afterlife. She acted bravely and selflessly, and saved many a life by giving up her own. For all that she has done, I know she is in a better place, and a place where I hope to join her one day."
Fahim is silent for a moment in respect.
"Still, I suspect we all lost someone we cared for today, and in that I offer my condolences to you and your town. This has been a terrible ordeal, but one that the town of Railford has weathered and come through on the other side still intact. Let us focus on grieving and rebuilding now."
Fahim looks around the ruined town, and at the haggard villagers who have survived the fight with the ghouls.
"Beecher, see to your town and give them strength with your presence. I will check on my friend and see how he is doing. Once things have calmed down, we can meet again and figure out what to do from here."
Assuming nothing else from Beecher, Fahim heads off to check on Honus' recovery.
The night passes, and brings healing to all.
The following night Becher welcomes you all back to his distillery, which has been cleansed of blood, and where repairs have begun again on the shutters.
"I'm an honest man, an honest craftsman, and while I know I owe you my thanks, I'm curious as to what else might have brought your group to Railford. It's not every week that a group such as yours comes by, and is so intent on risking life and limb for others."
He serves each of you a tall glass of very fine beer, mead, or whiskey depending on your liking, and sits back.
"So. Time to put our cards on the table."
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As the three Pathfinders gather around Beecher and sip their chosen beverage, Mexus takes a brief second to compose himself, and then begins the discussion on behalf of the party in his business-like formality. "Sir Railford, I was fairly forthcoming in both of our brief exchanges regarding our motivation to call on you; so, we have very few cards to place on the table which you have not already seen. We represent the Pathfinder Society, which wishes to procure the deed to the distillery to use as a lodge for the Society. The Society has authorized us to offer you and the town its protection in exchange for you signing over the deed to the Society. Nothing would change for you or any of the others that live here, except that members of the Society would come and go at irregular intervals, and there would be some form of protection placed here that would prevent its inhabitants from being forced off the land or annexed by another noble or state. You could continue to work the vineyard and retain all of the profits of your labor.” Mexus then awaits what he expects to be a polite but fervent negative reply.
Becher gazes morosely past the tiefling at the shattered front door, and then at the blood stains that he's mostly scrubbed and sanded free of the wooden planks.
"That's right. You had said something along those lines. I'm afraid the ghoul fever has made those hours a little... indistinct in my mind."
He sighs and scrubs at his face. "Very well. I've no heir as it is, and after this last series of horrors, I'd welcome some protection. My father was a proud member of your Society. I grew up hearing tales of his exploits. In many ways, this distillery his still his. In spirit, at any rate. It would make him happy to know it was being put to that use. I'll send the deed over."
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Mexus quirks an eyebrow in surprise, but quickly recovers and continues. ”I am certain that the Society will be most pleased with your decision, Sir Railford. However, I cannot in good conscience allow you to comply so quickly without considering all of the ramifications of your decision. Being a part of the nobility of the Taldan Empire, albeit a minor part, I believe that I have a more nuanced understanding of your situation than the Society as a whole. Removing this land from the purview of the Taldan Empire, and signing it over to the Society, is likely to provoke additional attempts to seize the property. And while the Society would undoubtedly be able to defend the property and those that live on it, it may actually be in best interests of all of the involved parties if you instead signed over the deed to a sympathetic Taldan noble that would be willing to provide a similar situation to you and your people, as well as the Society. That would, in effect, also serve to buffer the property, and those who live here, from additional political and physical attempts to seize it, at the property would already be registered in the capitol as being part of a powerful noble’s estate. If you would prefer that the land remain wholly part of the Taldan Empire, then I might suggest that you instead sign the property over to Lord Dominicus Blelor, whom I have be told was an ally of your father’s.” Mexus then leans back to await Railford’s reaction to the suggestion.
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Fahim raises an eye brow at Mexus' mention of deeds, and then his brow hopelessly furrows as Mexus goes into his long explanation of Taladarian property rights.
I swear, Mexus missed his calling as a bureaucrat. He could probably make the royal scribes of Qadira look like a group of traveling performers. It is no surprise my people conquered so much of Taladar. They are still probably waiting for us to fill out the proper forms to invade.
Fahim clears his throat to not-so-subtly draw Beecher's attention.
"I'm not going to tell you what to do with your land, as its yours and that's up to you. I am here to tell you why we came, and what we can offer. The Pathfinder Society, of which your father was a part of, wants to help you honor the work he was doing by setting up a lodge in a portion of your distillery. In exchange for letting the Society do that, they would gladly help finance your operations and provide protection. They are not asking for the deed to your property, and nor do they want it I suspect. After all, who better to own the distillery than Iodon's son?"
Fahim takes a long drink of the beer he was given, and then gives a satisfying sigh and belch.
"From one brewer to another, this is one fine draft. Before we leave, we should talk shop. Now that things aren't so hectic, I wouldn't mind a tour of your distillery, and I'd be happy to share some brewing tricks of my own. After all, we strive for the same thing, mugs full of beer next to a warm fire."
to befriend Beecher and get him in a cooperative mood.
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Honus sits quietly, dressed in plain linens without armor and without sword or shield at the ready. His shoulders are slumped, elbows resting on his thighs and hands hanging interlaced between his knees. It's a look that no one has before seen from the warrior and he appears almost as a completely different person, almost as if he has sat in this very spot for ten straight years without any movement. Sitting, aging, and becoming more and more feeble. It's difficult to tell if he hears or understands the discussion at the table. He simply sits and stares into the untouched mug before him.
She's gone. Because of me. I wasn't there to defend them as I had sworn to do, and now... she's gone.
At Becher's mention of ghoul fever, Honus finally lifts his chin the tiniest bit, barely noticeable if at all.
Not a complete loss, at least. Becher is saved, as is the majority of Railford. If not for our group... if not for Alahazra, Kretchmoor would have kicked in every door and cut through most of the townsfolk, then terrorized the remaining ones until the ghouls came to sweep through them all. She knew the risks and sacrificed herself for the good of the town. She was a servant of the people and deserves a proper memorial.
Finally, after a lengthy bout of silence, Honus places his hands on the table and leans against it as if to stand, but doesn't. He rocks back and looks to the remains of his group.
"We need to honor her, and all of the people that lost their lives yesterday, but we should honor Alahazra separately. She was a mostly private individual and I think she would prefer it that way. I... I have an urn that we can use. It's beauty in no way rivals her own, but it's still a finely crafted vessel, with a plate for engraving. I'm not sure of respectable final resting place, though..."
He pauses, and confusion washes over him as the ongoing discussion finally permeates his consciousness. He speaks to Becher, and gives a small scowl at Mexus for suggesting the unnecessary.
"The deed to Railford? These are your lands and your town, Becher. There's no need to sign anything over to the Pathfinder Society. We just wanted to come to an agreement to share in some hospitality and repay you with a bit of protection. You may not have an heir in blood, but surely there is a man here you could trust to continue your family legacy in practice, even if not in name. Send that man as emissary to Grand Prince Stavian to show him honor and respect, and request formal title as minor lord in return for his and the town's loyalty to the Grand Prince."
Becher listens earnestly as Mexus explains his position and that of the society, and when he elaborates on how it might be best to deed the distillery over to Lord Blelor, he frowns and begins to nod slowly.
Then Fahim addresses him, and his frown deepens - not in anger, but in clear confusion. Honus addresses him as well, and he finds himself nodding again, albeit slowly.
"Well, I must admit to being slightly confused. Your friend Mexus here has made a convincing argument in favor of deeding the distillery to Lord Blelor, but it seems there's no need to sign over the deed to begin with?"
He then turns to Fahim. "And I would be happy to walk you through my distillery. When the lands around here were flooded a few years ago, I fought to keep the distillery alive by turning from wine to whiskey. I pride myself in a few private innovations that allowed me to fabricate an excellent spirit, and would be more than happy to show you around, friend Fahim."
At this he looks to Honus. "After, of course, we have tended to our dead. I am happy to help you search for a suitable resting place for your friend, but am not sure the local environs would suit. Perhaps the urn could be sent to her home? I'm sure her family would be grateful."
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Mexus sighs and rolls his eyes at his companion’s remarks.
Must remember to tell the other Pathfinders what their opinions shall be prior to the next set of negotiations. Scratch that. Purchase scrolls of Hold Person for use on the other Pathfinders prior to next negotiations. Scratch that. Take the time to convince the other Pathfinders that you’re merely putting forth their idea during the next set of negotiations.
Mexus looks down to some random point in space maybe three feet off the ground and maybe three feet in front of him. He exhales slowly, then closes his eyes. After a few seconds, he inhales sharply then his eyes snap open and immediately come to focus on Becher. A split second later he begins his rebuttal in a calm and collected tone.
”Forgive me, Sir Railford, for failing to state my reasoning more explicitly, as well as for not discussing my suggested course of action with my associates in advance. I am sure that all three of us …” Here Mexus makes the briefest of pauses and his gaze momentarily falls to the floor before he recovers. ”… merely wish to protect your interests while procuring regular access to your distillery for the Society. My associates are quite right in stating that these are in fact your lands and you can do whatever you like with them. We have no interest in forcing you to take any course of action with which you are not wholly comfortable. If you wish to retain the deed to the land, and grant the Society access to your distillery for use as a lodge, our mission here will be successfully completed. However, if you choose to take that course of action, I do not believe that, in the long term, your interests or the Society’s interests will be best served. The reason for that being that this land has some significant value, and, as Kretchmoor has already demonstrated, a number of Taldan nobles would, given their druthers, find a way to take control of this land themselves.”
“If you take the course of action that the honorable Sir Gisborne advocated, and send an envoy on your behalf to treat with the Court of the Grand Prince, you may meet with some degree of success, provided that your envoy is a practiced politician that is well connected and intimately familiar with a number of Taldan noble families. If not, I think that the unfortunate truth is that your envoy would become a political play toy for some of the less scrupulous nobles to use and manipulate in order to eventually claim the land for their own. It would be likely that if you came to the court without at least some political allies, one or more of the nobles would contest the deed if for no other reason to buy time to find a legal means of subverting or invalidating the deed, or perhaps even illegally forging a contradictory document. This would place the land’s ownership in question, which would grant the opportunity for forces to be marshaled and deployed to claim the land by force. Or, alternatively, even if the nobles wished to contest the deed in a civilized means, they could call on their vast hereditary coffers to wage a lengthy legal challenge that would require you to either grant their claim or bankrupt the estate trying to keep it. I do not believe that either you or the Society would benefit from such an scenario.”
“Assuming that you and your compatriots, Sir Railford, are not well practiced politicians of the Grand Prince’s Court, it seems to me that the most successful strategy you can adopt is to sign over the land to an entity that can protect it, and your interests with it, from the greedy hands of the Taldan nobles. Given our instructions from the Pathfinder Society, it seems most likely that the powers that be of the Society would prefer that you sign over the land directly to the Society. Although, I now take Sir Al-Khabyyr’s words into account, and that may not be the case. Regardless, the Society is willing to provide a very significant physical, and perhaps mystical, defense of your land, but I have serious doubts as to the Society’s interest in engaging in the necessary political maneuverings that will be required to secure the land from the machinations of a very motivated and capable Taldan nobility. Thus, I am left to conclude that it would be in your best interests to turn the deed over to a sympathetic Noble that already has the political and military power, with the help of the Society, to secure the land, so that the value of this land is not worth the risk of challenging the Noble. I have been told that Lord Blelor, being an ally of your father, fits the bill perfectly. But of course, Sir Railford, the choice is entirely up to you. I am merely lending what insight I have to help advise you as to how to best serve your interests, and, of course, secure the interests of the Society.”
With that Mexus pleasantly awaits his allies’ next attempt to skewer his efforts.
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As Mexus explains himself, Honus waits patiently with an expression of distaste. When mentioned by name, he turns and meets the brief gaze of the Tiefling with an arched eyebrow. His lips flatten with thought as the issues are raised, and he brings his interlaced hands from his lap to the table top. He emanates a soft Hrm, and then only attentive silence until Mexus finsihes his point. Honus clears his throat and looks at Becher Railford who seems to be waiting for someone else to speak while he considers his options.
"Becher, I believe that under no circumstance should you allow the deed for your land to be signed over to the Pathfinder Society. A shared interest in lodging and protection from thugs and thieves like Kretchmoor is all the Society wants, and it is the only reason we were sent to find you. And, while Lord Navarion brings up some discomforting points regarding politics and nobility, I can't say I disagree."
As Mexus explains himself, Honus waits patiently with an expression of distaste...
UGH! I still have that whiskey flavor in my mouth! Is Fahim seriously praising this sour filth. I knew I should have asked for mead, but I was trying to show interest in their craft. Oh! I just realized, this is the second time this has happened. I choked at the table in the Temple of Korada, too! That was embaras-- What? What is Mexus talking about?