Sword and Coin
‘What a shame to have to put cold steel through such pretty flesh’, muses Septimus. But that is what you get when you awaken a Gunderman from a drunken slumber with a foul dripping blade in your hand. However, once seeing what their apparent leader did to that poor bastard Ranauldo, he can only imagine they will all be dining in the nine hells together for their deeds. His trusty short sword certainly dealt that fate for more than one of those devious devils.
‘So now we have become….Tavern Keepers?’, he thinks to himself, spitting on the ground. If Septimus had wanted that life, he would have stayed in Gunderland and put up his steel. But having a base of operations in Messantia does have it’s advantages. He certainly hopes Alric and Gaius don’t expect him to do anything more than enjoy the wine. A business man, he is not.
The day following the night attack, Septimus leaves the tavern to let the more learned members of his group to deal with the watch...and the cleanup. Having failed to protect Ranauldo secretly grates on Septimus’ pride. What if he had been quicker? What if he hadn’t been so deep in his cups? Could he have saved his patron? Regardless, Septimus realizes that the group will need another benefactor connected locally. He decides to spend the next several days trying to track down someone that could benefit from their particular set of skills, but also provide then with the backing, connections and local knowledge that is most lacking.
As this requires a good deal of coin, Septimus also decides to try to enhance his already substantial purse in the gambling dens. Many of the proprietors recognize him and ask about his absence of late. But seeing that his purse is bulging, they are more than happy to affix false smiles and offer honeyed greetings to get him to spend at their tables. After all is said and done, Septimus is certain he comes out just a little worse than when he went in.
Oddly, while at one such establishment, some fellow stumbles up to Septimus and embraces him like a long lost friend. Clearly the man must have been mistaken, as he has never seen this man before.
‘But Inago, don’ you recognith me?’ the man asks with a slight slur to his words.
‘You have me confused with someone else, friend. Move along.’ Septimus replies. Making a point to double check his purse to make sure this is not some form of con, and simultaneously placing his free hand on the pommel of his short sword to get his point across.
The fool, seeing this with widened eyes, sobers a bit and moves away mumbling some form of apology and his not seen for the rest of the night.
Tiring of losing at the dice tables, secretly sure the house has them rigged, and weary of hunting for a new patron, Septimus decides to spend a few days with that comely Brythunian on the street of silks. Certainly she would like to hear of the exciting events of the night of daggers.
‘At least she should pretend to like it, since that is what she is paid for after all’, laughs Septimus to himself…