When Garban insisted on another game, Truss had to suppress a groan. When Seahawk agreed, he had to suppress another one. If there was one thing that dwarf hated more than anything else, it was losing.

“I’m out,” said Truss, refusing the cards when Seahawk tried to deal to him. “I’ll just go get some more drinks for everyone. How’s that sound?”

“Fine, lad,” Garban told him. “If you’re scared of losing again, then nobody when hold it against you.”

Truss sighed and refused to rise to the bait. He glanced at his sister, hoping for some support, but Tress looked more than eager for another hand. With a shake of his head, Truss rose from his seat and headed for the bar.

“What else have you got, other than beer?” he asked Vek.

The lizardfolk bartender considered this for a moment. Then he hissed out: “Mead.”

“I guess I’ll have some of that, then,” said Truss. “And four more mugs of beer for the table, please.”

Vek nodded. It was an odd gesture to see on a lizardfolk, but the bartender had been around other races for long enough to mimic their body language wherever he physically could. “Five coppers.”

Truss paid for the drinks, and Vek was kind enough to provide him with a tray to carry them all back to the table.

“One more game!” Garban was insisting, red-faced. Apparently this second round had been a particularly quick one, and given the giant goofy smile on Tress’ face, Truss assumed that she must have been the one who’d claimed victory.

“Sorry, Garby,” Tress said, pulling the various coins on the table toward herself. Most of the players had bet 10 copper pieces, though a handful had simply put down a single silver piece to save on space.

“I can win it all back!”

“Garban,” the young man—Dorvo, Truss believed his name was—said. “We’ve only just gotten paid. I would rather not lose it all gambling.”

The dwarf glared at him, and Truss exchanged an amused glance with his sister. Dorvo apparently hadn’t yet seen how competitive and prideful Garban could be. The older adventurer reached into his pouch and slammed something onto the table that was decidedly not money. “How about I bet this then?”

Dorvo’s eyes widened, but Tress just frowned and leaned forward to get a better look at the object. “What is it?”

Garban removed his hand, revealing exactly what he was offering up. It looked like it was an amulet of some sort; a small brass disc on simple twine. In its center was set a blue gemstone, and all around it were carved a number of glyphs. The most prominent of these glyphs, set just above the gem, was the glyph of time.

“Where did you get that?” Seahawk asked. Her voice had a strange quality to it—level and carefully controlled.

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“We got it off a bandit who attacked us during our last job,” Garban told her.

“He had the glyph of life carved into his face,” added Dorvo. It was clear from his tone that he wasn’t sure what exactly that meant, but that he did know it was significant. Everyone else at the table tensed up.

“You took that from a Lifebranded?” asked Truss. He sat down, but didn’t bother with passing around the drinks. “By the twins, Garban. He probably stole that thing from the Heralds.”

Tress nodded. “Yeah, man. Return that thing and get a fat juicy reward. What are you trying to do, gambling it?”

Garban glared around the table, then deflated. “You’re right,” he said. “But still, if any of you wanted to play a hand…”

Despite himself, Truss smiled. “Are you hoping to win and get back all that money and then some, or are you hoping to lose so that bringing that thing back to Keening becomes somebody else’s problem?”

The dwarf fixed his glare on Truss but remained silent.

Tress burst out in a fit of giggles. “I can’t really blame you for wanting to stay away from the Heralds,” she said. “They’re a bunch of creeps.”

“Who exactly are these Heralds?” asked Dorvo. “And why is branding someone with the glyph of life a punishment?”

“The Heralds of Demise are the priesthood of Keening,” Seahawk explained. “They are worshippers of death, and they believe it to be a doorway of sorts. According to the Heralds, Halorath is but the first of many worlds, and when you die here, your soul passes onto the next world with all the experience it accumulated in this reality. Thus is also true of the next world, and the next, and the next. They believe that the gods too pass through this succession of worlds and deaths, and that the fallen gods of old await us in the next realms. The Lifebrand of Neverdeath is a punishment reserved for their greatest heretics and their worst sinners. It signifies that the one who bears it has a soul that is trapped within this world, unable to move on to the next one, forever.”

Dorvo stared at her, and he knit his brows as he processed this. “Huh.”

“Like I said, they’re creepy,” said Tress. “But they do spend a lot of time and effort gathering up pre-Godswar artifacts, and they’ll pay well if you recover one for them.” She nodded to the amulet. “Especially a stolen one. Seriously, Garban. Don’t wager that thing. Just suck it up and take it to Keening.”

Garban frowned at the amulet. “Fine,” he begrudgingly relented. “But I still want to play another hand!”

Tress leaned back in her chair and stretched. “Nah, I’m not really feeling it.” She lowered her arms, bringing one in contact with Dorvo’s. “How about you?” she asked him. “What are you feeling?”

Dorvo smiled at her, and Truss rolled his eyes and looked away.

Looking away brought his attention to Seahawk, who was staring intently at the amulet. “You alright?” he asked her.

Seahawk blinked. “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking of how glad the Heralds will be to have this back.”

Garban sighed. “I suppose we’ll head out for Keening tomorrow then,” he said. “You got that, lad?”

Dorvo was already deep in a whispered conversation with Tress, who was smiling and giggling at whatever it was he had to say. He glanced back at Garban. “Hm? Oh, yes. Got it.” Then he returned his attention to Truss’ sister.

“Young men,” Garban muttered, shaking his head.

Truss rolled his eyes once more and drank his mead.