Hens in the Foxhouse

"Baer is... otherwise occupied. As you soon will be. The guards have to react to a murder, Blake; we can't buy you out of this one. But I have plans for you, to get you out of the way for a bit until the heat dies down." The eyes narrow again. "A few weeks in the wild ought to do you some good, anyway. People in Astangard are starting to get to know you."


When his heart starts beating again, Blake answers, "Yes sir. Thank you sir." Two thoughts battle: 'How does he do that?' and 'Nice, I have a rep.' He wavers, unsure if he's been dismissed.

"Who has the details?"

"Another team just returned from an expedition to Merui. You'll be joining them on their return trip. Once they've been fully debriefed, that is." The halfling chuckles a bit. "Since they're already a hodge-podge of multiple teams and we're having to reassign two of their number, you'll fit right in."


"So when I meet them I'll find out if that was a complement," he says, loosening up, "Just, promise me, they're not psychotic?"

The halfling grins. "That depends on whether you ask the ranger or the wizard about each other. But that won't be a problem; the wizard is being reassigned to a task that better fits his skills. Your unique expertise will be... better suited to the job for the remaining group."

The halfling gestures to the door. "Be my guest--so long as you're still sober enough to think clearly. I'll summon you back once the other team is ready to talk."


Blake turns, hesitates, goes.

At the bar he composes himself, orders something strong, and gives it his
Concentration is a class skill.
undivided attention. With that safely in his otherwise empty stomach, he turns to observe the room and contemplates dinner.

The two toughs at the door give you a glance but take no action, so the halfling apparently does not see fit to have you pummeled at this moment. The bartender slides the tumbler of whiskey across the bar and leaves you in peace, content to manage the more boisterous customers and leave the quiet one alone.


With the whiskey vanquished, Blake looks for the patrons who had ogled him previously. Some want to laugh at his misfortune. Others might commiserate. Somebody probably knows what happened to the rest of his former team.


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