The cards are dealt and each gambler plays their respective hands. A gaunt, overly-drunk twig of a man named Bromdan is the first to fold, his random selection of mismatched cards giving him nothing to work with. He’s followed by Errol in the next hand. Errol’s beer-foam tinged mustache twitches as he lays down his crappy hand with a sigh.
A woman with brown hair, nursing a stout ale—her name Sheckly—utterly fails to bluff her way through the third hand. Finally, Edgewin, a shrewd woman in her fifties, finally folds, but not before giving Mordri a run for his money.
“Well, that’s it. You win, Mr. Modri,” she says, laying out her cards to show her loss. “Now, how about you be a sport and buy us all a round with them winnin’s?” she continues with a wink.
Modri has a pot of 18 copper and 4 silver pieces to his name, now.
Bromdan, too drunk for his own good, pulls out a gold piece. He puts it on the table. “Ah . . . I’ll . . .”—he belches loudly—“I’ll bet this gold piece I can win the next hand . . . who’s in?”
“Yer a fool, Bromdan!” both Errol and Sheckley tell the man.
“Put that back in yer pocket, ferr’in ya lose it,” Sheckly continues.
“I’m in,” Edgewin says, laying a gold piece of her own on the table. Bromdan and Edgewin look at you, Modri. “You in, Mr. Modri?”
“Ser Artanis,” Becklin says with a suddenly kind and almost affectionate expression in her eyes, “It really is good to see you again—and safe, at that. But you are correct. I need to get back to Ispin’s funeral preparations. And of course we’ll be catching up after the funeral—after all, I didn’t just invite you or the rest of Ispin’s friends just for a funeral. We have something important to discuss following the funeral. Oh, and I’m actually glad you made it early. I was going to look for you or one of the others to let you know that I’d like for you—and Ispin would have appreciated it, too—to take up the front row during the ceremony, if you don’t mind.”
To Coltan, she turned and responded, “Alas, unlike you long-lived folks, Ispin was only human, and an old one, at that. Spry as he was, a month or so ago, he suddenly began complaining of a pain in his side, and he rapidly deteriorated from there. I’m sorry to say that lucidity was not his companion in his final days, but not before letting me know who he wanted contacted and how to execute his estate. Local healers did their best to ease his suffering, in the end. He died peacefully in his sleep. That, however, is not how he wanted to be remembered, and so, for the funeral, we will be celebrating his life full of adventure, generosity, nd selfless bravery—and not a few of his kookier moments as well—rather than mourning his passing.”
Becklin turns to Mery and says, “You’re not only more than welcome, but you and your friends have earned that money. Ispin would probably say something about using it to fund your next adventure so you can do even more good in the world—so you can earn more cash to do the same and the let the cycle continue.”
She thought for a moment and said, “It reminds me of one of his sayings: ‘We can’t go back; we can only look, behind from where we came, and go ’round and ’round and ’round in the circle game.’. I think he got it from a song he used to hum on occasion.”
Becklin looked off in to a distant nowhere for another nostalgia-filled moment—if the bittersweet smile on her face was anything to go by—and then seemed to return to you all. “Ah . . . alas, I must return to my preparations. You’re welcome to finish your refreshments, or even tour the ruins of this ‘castle’,” she said, making air-quotes on the word she used to describe the rather small old fortress, “Or have some fun in town. I’ll see you at the funeral.”
With that, she bids you three ado.
Froswin was beside herself in happiness at receiving a silver piece without someone trying to haggle her down for once—but even more so that there were such nice folk who actually appreciated her craftsmanship. “Thank you so much!” she chirped at the payment. She handed the ‘sea-serpent’ toy to Merituuli. “Here, like this!” she said, showing him how to push this one along the ground, by nudging a ridge in the middle of its back. “Once it gets going, I have a little wheel inside—see you can see it there!--that keeps it going for a little bit.”
To Decimus, she answered, “Oh, if this strikes you as gnomish work, then you’ve got a good eye. My curiosity got the better of me, one day, and I kind of walked out of my master’s shop with a few—okay 20—toys and he was kind enough not to call the guards. Hee hee hee! Well, after working off my debt, he couldn’t help but notice my skills and offered to take me on as an apprentice. On a lark, I started gathering all the fish bones that get thrown away by the fishmongers in town and used them to make practice trinkets—rather than spending hours and hours cutting and filing little metal pieces. Needless to say, I ended up with a lot of these little contraptions and my master suggested I sell them as low-end toys to fund my materials cost for the actual, high-end toys I make with him.”
At Hunni’s exclamation that they were magic, Froswin giggled but got serious. “Oh, don’t say that, please! There ain’t no magic in these! Just pure mechanical parts! I swears!” She seemed to say it a little louder than necessary, too. Then in a softer voice, she said, “Please don’t get me in trouble! I’m not a member of the High Sorcerers or whatever, and magic is heavily regulated!”