My sidekick and I were welcomed like the heroes we are. A party was thrown in our honor! Our next quest will see us return to a village we have already aided previously. I suspect they will also welcome us like heroes! Perhaps more festivities will ensue?
The members of the Last Stand Mercenaries sat around the longtable in the mercenary hall, some faces looking troubled while others looked proud and excited. There was the matter of Skrell’s visit and the looming uncertainty at large of the fact that High King Vangren had apparently been robbed of something powerful and potentially dangerous. They had heard the rumors through Shaugh previously, but confirmation from one of the Gemstone Generals was a different matter. Troubled faces were understandable.
On the other side of the coin, the success of Troy and Gargarel’s first mission and the elimination of a dangerous bandit crew were exciting things to be celebrated. The two newest members of the mercenary company were understandably on that lighter side of the coin, not letting the external factors deter them from being proud of themselves. Cohn joined in on the positivity, basking in the newfound respect that Gargarel was showing him after having seen the fight with Geren, forgetting about anything else.
Maris didn’t seem to particularly care about the new recruits. This was her first time meeting them, so it was a bit different for her. It was understandable that the events of the few days prior would be the more pressing issue in her mind than celebrating the feats of those she’d just met. Geren knew she would come around eventually to enjoy the two newcomers, even if she never let it show.
Matching Maris’s unsettled energy were Lyght and Feros. Though they were both happy to see Maris had returned while they were gone, the mission itself was business as usual for them. What had transpired during their absence was more heavily weighted on the balance scale than the defeat of Barsh’s Bandits. It hit closer to home.
Feros in particular was visibly angry, his fangs showing as he gritted his teeth. He held a deep disdain for Feroxi like Skrell who made life harder for the rest of his race by personifying so many of the stereotypes the general populace held. Granted, Feros himself was more cloak of darkness than ray of sunshine, but he mostly had a reputation of simply being a cold personality who still did good in helping people.
Geren himself was experiencing a mixture of both sides of the coin that was being flipped around the room, like he had drank something sweet and delectable that left him feeling sick afterward. He was proud of Lyght and the others. Barsh and his crew were gone, the villages and farms in that area now safe.
But… the forgery mystery still prevailed. There was also the larger issue of what was going on behind the veil in Venterias. Geren anxiously played through a multitude of scenarios in his mind, none of them providing any comfort. Even their successes opened up more questions he wasn’t sure of the answers to.
He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head while looking up at the ceiling far above the center of the hall past the living quarters. “So you’re sure?” He asked, returning his gaze towards Lyght directly across the table from him.
The boy nodded. “It matched the description of the rumors. Plus… his reaction. He called it the ‘strongest rune’ that he had ever stolen. I was able to block it, but the stone around me was really messed up. I can imagine it wouldn’t have been pretty had I taken a direct hit.”
Glad I gave you those… Geren thought, glancing at the twin dragonscale swords that Lyght had set against the wall. It was a blessing in disguise that he had decided to fight with a dual-wielding style, making the unique magic-resistant blades a perfect match. The weapons seemed to… accept him also, somehow. When anybody else had tried wielding them, they burned to the touch. It was akin to a cornered animal activating a natural self-defense mechanism like a skunk's stench or a porcupine fanning its quills.
Strangely, Geren didn’t recall such a reaction from the blades when he had first procured the pair, nor when he had first gifted them to Lyght. Cohn was also unable to copy them, though whether that was due to the burning interfering with his senses when he held them or some other inherent nature of the scaled swords was unknown. Strange implements… but extremely effective at keeping their wielder safe. That’s what mattered.
“It would have been good to know where he had stolen them from.” Geren said, returning his thoughts back to the topic at hand. “I understand the situation was a sensitive one where you weren’t really able to interrogate him, though. No fault of yours.”
Lyght shrugged. “Doubt he would have remembered where he stole an individual rune from, anyway.”
Geren shook his head. “In general, yes. But he knew that rune specifically and identified it by its strength. He would have remembered.” He returned its chair to its normal resting position and set his elbows on the table. “No point dwelling on that though—it’s still good information to know these things are real. And… that somebody out there is likely creating them. Possibly selling them on the black market, even. It’s a fact I hate to acknowledge. The information itself is still good to know.”
Raw runes, the rumors had referred to them as. Reports from the bigger cities spoke of them being used in the turf wars between the Ashsteppers and the Black Knuckles. Runes that didn’t have any type of specific trace of an essence manifestation in them, instead containing raw essence that reacted with a volatile blast of energy when released. The process for making them was unknown, presumed to have been discovered either by runetracers belonging to one of the rival gangs or some type of crazed scientist on the black market who was making a fortune.
“So…” Cohn began to speak with his closed fists up near his head, elbows on the table. ”We’ve got a mad king that’s had a couple of dangerous toys stolen, someone equally mad enough to be responsible for the theft, a 7-foot Feroxi with an attitude worse than Feros that has it out for us, multiple Outlands beasts across the border, bandit groups in possession of raw runes, and someone planting forged contracts meant to both frame us as being somehow involved with what was stolen from the mad king and being the reason we’re on the bad side of that Feroxi I mentioned.”
He held his hands on either side of his head, his right with an open palm and his left with two fingers held up. “I’ve only got enough fingers for three more crazy things to happen. Given this all happened in such a short timespan, I hate to think how soon it’ll be until I need to borrow someone else’s hand to continue the count.”
“Thanks for that excellent summary.” Geren said with a dry smile. “But let’s try not to let the big picture stuff bog us down too much right now.”
He took a deep breath and gave a more sincere smile. “I’ll stress it again—this is all good information to have. We know about the raw runes now. Before, we couldn’t be certain they were more than rumors. We’ve proven we’re capable of defeating monsters from the Outlands and know to be on our toes in that regard for any future encounters. The rumors of Vangren having a couple relics stolen was also confirmed. Which, yes, is frightening… but we’re aware of it at least versus being in the dark. Then there’s the situation with Skrell as well. But, Jonas bailed us out of that one and we’re seemingly in the clear, the forgery attempt itself aside. I think we’re in the best realistically possible position we could be in once you consider everything from that perspective.”
The others all nodded along, some hesitantly and others in eager agreement. Lyght’s expression noticeably lightened up at Geren’s words. Feros and Maris still held slight scowls, while Gargarel and Cohn remained cheerful as they enjoyed their newfound friendship. Cohn still held his fingers up though, frowning at them slightly for a moment before smiling and high-fiving Garagarel. Troy was the only one whose mood seemed to worsen at Geren’s pep talk. He pursed his lips and tapped the table with his index finger in a slow, deliberate rhythm like water dripping from a leaf.
Noticing Geren’s eyes on him, Troy flushed slightly and stopped the tapping. He composed himself and brought his hands together and returned Geren’s look. “You said that Jonas was to meet with this scribe from the military tomorrow?”
Geren raised an eyebrow, curious as to what angle Troy’s interest in the matter was from. He was clever, and had shown a propensity to ask questions that others may not have thought of in the short time Geren had known him. “That’s right. Was supposed to be today, granted, but yes. Tomorrow is the new plan.”
Troy gave one quick nod. “Right. Well, may I ask… why such an interest in who created the forged contract? It would seem to me who planted the forgery and how would be the pertinent issues to investigate.”
Questions like that. Geren crossed his arms and shrugged. “I figure that starting from the beginning makes the most sense. It wasn’t planted before it was written, after all. Figuring out the beginning should make the middle and end easier to fall into place, no?”
“I… suppose.” He broke his eyes from Geren’s and trailed off, looking at nothing in particular off to his right.
“Apologies.” Troy began, looking back at Geren once more. “I’m still just surprised at how easily you have let a pair of strangers into your home and welcomed them so… naturally. I have known plenty of other men who would quickly jump to place the newcomers under scrutiny of suspicion, given the timing.”
Gargarel perked up at this, looking disapprovingly over Cohn’s head at Troy sitting on the other side. “Hey, stop the downer talk. We’ve done awesome so far! Only thing anybody would suspect us of is being responsible for the stench in the crapper. And that’d mostly be me—you don’t have anything to worry about on that front.”
“So it was you!” Cohn shouted, putting his palms on the table and standing abruptly. He looked betrayed. Hurt.
Troy sat there dumbstruck, not sure how to respond. Geren stifled a laugh while the others just shook their heads as Gargarel and Cohn began to argue over the science of how Gmaas poop could smell so much worse than Human.
“Creative way with words aside, he has a point.” Geren said somewhat loudly over the cacophony of jibes being sent both ways by the two knuckleheads. “You guys have done great. And I wouldn’t have let you join the company if I had any concerns about you as people. Once you’re part of the family, you’re part of the family. There’s no set timetable for how long you have to wait before we accept you. It’s simple.”
Geren was taken aback by what looked like tears beginning to form in Troy’s eyes. A soft smile snuck its way onto the boy’s face, a look of sincere emotion that Geren hadn’t yet seen him display.
“Part,” Troy began, “of the family… Huh.” He gave a light exhalation of breath and nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied.
The discussion was cut off there as the door to the Hall opened up, and Shaugh’s deep, smooth voice echoed around the walls.
“Alright, whose idea was it to send this glutton over to my place?!” He bellowed as he marched in.
Shaugh stood there, muscular arms crossed—he had gone with a sleeveless look today, making the stance extra imposing—as though he were waiting for the guilty party to stand up and apologize. All eyes turned to Geren. He shrugged dismissively. “I didn’t realize Jonas had such an appetite.”
This drew laughter from everyone in the room, Shaugh included. The large man clapped Geren on the shoulder. “You’re gonna crack one of these days. You can’t always keep up the casual and innocent act.”
Geren returned the shoulder clap with a fist bump. “It’s worked well all these years. So long as I stay casual and innocent, no reason it should stop, right?” He replied with a wink. “Anyway, did you bring the ‘glutton’ back with you or is he still making a mess over there?”
Shaugh shook his head. “Nah, he finally filled himself up I think. He’s waddling his way over here now.”
As if on cue, the door opened again and Wheatloaf, the Halvan man that Lyght and the others had rescued from Barsh, sidled in along the wall nervously. Geren had sent him to be properly fed at the Dice & Sword, which the plump man graciously welcomed. Even though he had apparently only been in Barsh’s captivity for three days, the diet during those days and the travel back to Davied were exceedingly different from what he was accustomed to, and his stomach had longed for proper home-cooked food.
Wheatloaf claimed to have been a traveling merchant that had been assailed by Barsh’s crew and taken in. He had been spared when his wagon was plundered because the bandits apparently thought it was good sport in bullying the rotund little man with insults and wanted to keep him around. Unfortunately his goods and wagon were something Geren couldn’t return to him, but he could at least ensure that he made it back home safely.
“We’ll discuss what to do with you here in a bit.” Geren said with a nod as he turned around in his chair. “Where’s Jonas?” He asked, looking to Shaugh.
Shaugh just smiled in response. He turned to the door and shouted. “Come on in!”
The door opened once more. Geren appreciated the courtesy of everyone closing it behind them, but really it would have been easier to keep it open at this rate. Jonas walked in, but not alone. A girl about Lyght’s age with pale orange hair that was tied into two tight braids just past her shoulders strolled in behind him, her hands behind her back. Her outfit of white and silver matched the colors of the Frelerian military, and a single sword and buckler were strapped to her waist on the left side.
“Serana!” Lyght shouted at the sight of the girl, standing up with an open-mouthed smile.
“Hey, Lyght!” She shouted back, returning the grin and waving. Her voice was pleasing to the ear—mellifluous and slightly singsong. Geren had rarely heard Serana sound anything less than happy. He wasn’t sure if she was just a naturally happy person, or if that was just the tone her voice took on by default.
“She popped in while this one was stuffing himself.” Shaugh said. “Gotta say, I’m flattered that you would come by my place as your first order of business once you’re back in town! Good food trumps all, huh?”
Serana looked at Shaugh with a slight pout. “Yeah, but you didn’t let me have any of that good food.”
Geren raised an eyebrow and looked to Shaugh inquisitively. “Hey man,” Shaugh began, ”I planned on us all getting our grub on together, so I didn’t want her getting too full beforehand, you know? Not like I’d deny a Last Stand member service.” He finished with a scoff and a dismissive shake of his head.
Standing up from his seat, Geren clapped his hands together. “Alright, you all heard the man! A big dinner to celebrate our two newest members coming back alive from their first mission.” He motioned to Gargarel and Troy with his arm out, palm facing upward. Everyone—even Feros—cheered in union.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“And for the return of both Maris, who came back from her own successful job a few days ago…” He motioned again to more cheers.
“And Serana, finally back from Wallesen!” More cheers, with Lyght noticeably looking the happiest. “I know that this isn’t everyone… Jru and Rhey are still out on that job in Garreghais. But this is the most members the Last Stand Mercenaries have had under this roof all together in a long time!”
Shaugh headed to the kitchen area in the back to begin getting the food ready. They weren’t going to use their usual spot at the Dice & Sword this evening. No, this feast deserved to happen right here within these walls. Burnttoast, a Halvan man who assisted Shaugh at the restaurant, could handle the establishment solo the rest of the night.
It was quite the eventful evening. Hard to beat a combination of good food, good people, and good times. Having so many of his people together all at once brought elation and a sense of fulfillment to Geren that few other things in life could match. The joy of the camaraderie and the savory flavor of the sauces Shaugh had soaked the meats in were enough for Geren to temporarily forget about the other concerns swimming around in the pool of his mind.
After their squabble earlier, Cohn and Gargarel were once again acting like long-lost best friends. It was an interesting pairing, especially given how they had clashed in their initial meeting. Cohn’s display of fighting skill caused Gargarel to treat him as more of an equal than he had previously, and the newfound respect from Gargarel helped to put Cohn at ease and let his guard down to have more genuine conversation and get to know the Gmaas beyond simply spouting his signature sarcasm. It was a mutual symbiosis.
The pair sang a few songs together, Gargarel using the strange, stringed greataxe as an oversized lute while Cohn conjured a pair of drumsticks and a snare drum. Geren was curious how he had managed the drum—perhaps the ale was distorting the rules of what his brain perceived as a weapon. When had he ever held a tool like that anyway?
Regardless, it was truthfully quite a performance. Geren couldn’t deny that Gargarel’s deep, somewhat brutal voice and Cohn’s higher, energetic tone went well together. He joked that they had better not leave his company and become traveling musicians.
Maris was surprisingly fun to be around when she actually partook in the festivities. The spirits wrenched open whatever locks she kept fastened on her personality normally. True, she didn’t like big get-togethers and large crowds like this, but downing a couple of drinks seemed to make her forget she didn’t like those things.
Then her competitive side started to seep through. She was prone to challenge anybody to any manner of competition. Geren liked seeing this side of her. It was a welcome change of pace to her typically distant aloofness and indifference to what was going on around her.
Lyght beat her in a game of blade chicken, where two parties tossed their swords into the air and held their arm out to the side, trusting that the blade wouldn’t slice them on the way down. It was her idea to challenge him, but she had been the one to pull her arm away just before the blade descended onto it. Lyght, however, had let his completely fall around his arm, the rotation downward perfectly missing him by the tip before continuing its descent and missing a second time on the upswing of the rotation. He was alarmingly good at that game… in fact, Geren wasn’t sure he’d ever seen him lose. There must be some kind of trick for how he tossed his sword up that helped him be sure it would rotate just right on the way down.
After losing to Lyght, she then proceeded to pummel Troy in a one-sided arm wrestling match before defeating Serana in a tightly-contested staring contest. Next came a drumming battle with Cohn where they each took turns producing a beat on the lone drum. Gargarel acted as self-appointed judge, citing his keen ear for music. He deemed them to both be inferior to him, so therefore they tied.
That drew boos from everyone, prompting the group to strip Gargarel’s title as judge and move to a voting system to determine the winner. They tied still, four to four. Maris and Cohn weren’t allowed to vote, of course. Wheatloaf had been too scared to vote, afraid of what Maris would do if he voted against her. Serana reminded him that he could simply vote for Maris in that case, but he still refrained, citing that he couldn’t do so honestly. Which led to him drawing Maris’s ire anyway.
Geren was curious what Troy was thinking on. It was clear that something was distracting him from the evening’s festivities, though he did a good job feigning interest in what was going on around him. After each time exchanging pleasantries or spending what he deemed a sufficient amount of time paying attention to the antics of others, a distant look slowly overtook the smile like storm clouds rolling in. There was something about the boy that seemed like he was always playing a role of some kind, adapting to what was needed of him in each situation and hiding the real Troy somewhere else. So far, he had played the role of mercenary recruit perfectly, so Geren wasn’t prying any further until he had reason to do so.
Geren caught glimpses of Lyght and Serana talking and laughing in between his observations of the others. Lyght poked fun at her for her attire, the colors of the Frelerian army not exactly being his favorite palette. But, since she had just returned from visiting Lyranna at the capital, she was given a mulligan for the time being.
Geren knew Lyght had fancied Serana’s older sister, but Lyranna had never returned the feelings due to their age difference of eight and a half years. He secretly hoped that Lyght would eventually realize that Serana was a much better match for him, anyway—the fact they were the same age was just a bonus. Lyranna was too headstrong, and Lyght tended to clash with others who operated on a different wavelength than him despite Geren’s best efforts to reign in his more brash side. But… that at least kept him from chasing girls around like a lost puppy, a phase Cohn had gone through that Geren wished he could wipe from his mind.
Serana was nowhere near the fighter that her sister was, but she was steadily improving. Lyght found beauty in Lyranna’s talents as much as he did in her appearance and personality, so as Serana continued to get better, perhaps he would feel the same about her. Her bubbly personality would do well to heal the wounds Lyght wasn’t even aware he had. The boy was troubled, Geren could tell, but he didn’t let it show. Geren suspected that Lyght guessed as much about him as well. Lyght probably just didn’t realize the reason his insight into Geren’s mind wasn’t simply because they were family, but because he was the same.
If Geren was a normal father, he would talk with Lyght and try to get him to open up to him some more. Possibly even return the favor. But he couldn’t do that… and so he couldn’t ask that of Lyght either. It wouldn’t be fair. Besides, Geren knew more about Lyght than the boy did about himself. Only one of them had any memory of that bloody scene in the Outlands seven years ago, after all.
Washing away the intrusive thoughts from his mind with a large swig of ale, Geren re-focused on enjoying the night. Serana and Lyght were now taking turns seeing who could come up with a better name for Cohn & Gargarel’s musical act. Lyght’s suggestion of the The Green Team was met with a myriad of laughter from the others, save for Cohn and Gargarel themselves who were neither one a fan of the moniker. Cohn—because he didn’t like his hair being grouped in with Gargarel’s skin. Garagarel—because it didn’t sound fierce enough.
It was when Serana dubbed them Beauty & The Freak, referencing an old children’s story that told of a noble lord’s Human daughter falling in love with a Gmaas who bore a hundred scars, that the hall broke into true hysterics. Even Maris and Feros let out full belly laughter rarely seen from them. Gargarel was greatly in favor of the name, doing his best to complement Serana on her “talents with the verbal arts” between belts of laughter. Cohn sat alone in his abashedness, fervently stating his case for why it was a terrible attempt at humor, only igniting the flames of laughter from the others even more.
Once the energy had died down somewhat, Troy stood up and attempted to excuse himself to bed. His body was still recovering from the intense battle he had fought with Barsh, and the previous days’ travel hadn’t been the ideal time for rest while they marched to get back to Davied. Giving his reasons and muttering an apology for his early exit, he did one of his signature bows. Arms to the side and a steady but swift motion of dipping his torso at the hips while keeping his legs straight, he reminded Geren of the dipping bird toys sometimes seen at woodworkers' shops.
Feros, who sat nearest Geren and just a couple of seats down from Troy with Jonas between them, stood up as well. He gave a quick apology but didn’t elaborate on what the apology was for. Jonas looked up at him and asked him if everything was alright. It was then that Troy walked by on his way to the stairwell. Feros gave a quick nod of confirmation to Jonas that everything was well, then turned and punched Troy squarely in the stomach, his face amusingly remaining stoic and resolute throughout the entire process.
Gasps of shock and shouts of confusion intermingled with laughter, showcasing two different types of reactions to such a sudden action. Lyght, Cohn, Shaugh, and Maris found it hilarious while the others looked at Feros hesitantly, wondering whether he had taken in too much drink and turned unexpectedly violent.
Gargarel in particular was now standing with a furious look on his face. He attempted to reach for his axe, forgetting it was propped along the far wall at the end of the table opposite Geren. Looking at his empty hand blankly for a second as though he were attempting to process where his weapon had gone, he shook his head and took an unarmed fighting stance instead.
“Thought you were better than cheap shots! Bring it on if you’ve got a problem!” He bellowed.
Feros glanced over his shoulder at Gargarel, unflinching from where he stood over Troy, who was keeled over with wide eyes and clutching his stomach. There was a look in Feros’s eyes Geren couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t malice… no, not at all. It was a surprisingly soft look. Not anger. Nor the look of one that had been offended. If anything, it almost appeared that he was happy, his eyes containing a small twinkle in them like that of a tavern bard before telling a bad joke.
The room stood still in this manner for several seconds before Feros looked away from Gargarel and smiled amusingly to himself. He shrugged and sat back in his seat. “No problems here. I made a promise to myself several days ago that I’d hit him the next time he did one of those ridiculous bows. Just staying true to my word.”
Gargarel’s tusked mouth hung open in confusion, matching the expression of a couple of the others. The same quartet from earlier that had found Feros’s initial attack so humorous again found themselves in quite the fit of laughter, this time with Geren joining in as well. It dawned on Geren that this was likely some kind of attempt at comedy by the typically humorless Feroxi.
Once the situation was cleared up, Feros gave a half-hearted apology that mostly blamed Troy for the attack—the focus of the apology centering on Feros striking a little too powerfully. If Troy didn’t do the absurd gesture so often, Feros wouldn’t have done it, after all. So his defense claimed, at least.
The two of them plus Gargarel returned to their seats at Geren’s request. He hadn’t planned on letting either of them head out just yet anyway, but Feros’s move on Troy had interrupted his thinking earlier. That out of the way, it was back to the topic at hand.
“Just wanted to first of all,” Geren began from his place at the head of the table, mug raised high, “thank everybody for being here. Thank you for choosing to work for me. Thank you for all being great people that I can rely on, even if we do have some… internal misunderstandings.” He said with a sly grin, eyes darting towards the right side of the table where Feros and Troy sat.
Setting his mug down, he continued. “Well, except for this one.” He said with a nod of his head towards where Wheatloaf sat to his left. “He’s just here by sheer luck. Sent as a sleeper agent from Barsh to eat us out of our foodstocks, I’d wager.” The mirth of the rest of the table assailed Wheatloaf's senses like a swarm of buzzing insects. He sheepishly looked back and forth from his pile of empty plates to the laughing faces, eventually realizing it was all—mostly at least—in good fun and loosening up
“So, speaking of our little friend here. We want to make sure he gets back home safely.” He said, then looked towards Wheatloaf. “Where is your home, and what would you be able to pay for an escort contract?”
Wheatloaf looked taken aback by the latter question. “Um, well… I dun’t have anything with me for payment but I could pay after’m home safe. I do have a store back at home with some funds ‘n such.”
Geren rested his chin on his fists thoughtfully. “Right. And where’s home at?”
“It’s, uh. Hohm. That’s what we calls our lil’ village. Hohm is home.”
Gargarel and Troy each had a look of recognition sweep over their faces, Gargarel raising his hand excitedly like a child eager to answer a question in school. “We know where Hohm is! The two of us did a job there last month when we were freelancing in Serafah!”
Geren raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Huh, how about that. Yeah… I do remember you mentioning that at dinner last week actually. So the two of you are familiar with the area?”
Troy shrugged. “It was one job, but yes, we do know the locals somewhat. Funny that we don’t know this one then…” He said, eying Wheatloaf with a hint of suspicion.
“W-well. Th-That’d be because I’m a travelin’ merchant, ya see.” Wheatloaf stammered. “I do run the shop there at Hohm when I’m around, but the rest of muh time is spent travelin’ around peddling good goods. I’ve b-been gone for a couple of months on this latest trip… was on muh way back when the ugly ones raided muh wagon and took me.”
“I don’t see any reason for him to lie.” Geren said. “Worst-case scenario I’d say is that we bring him back to Hohm, the villagers say they don’t recognize him, and we leave him out in the woods to fend for himself. We’d be down wasted travel time and some supplies, granted, but we’ve taken worse jobs.”
He was satisfied to see the panicked look on the Halvan’s face as he raised his palms and started waving them while shaking his head. “Oh n-n-no I couldn’t survive. I’m not like Wolfbone or Basil. They’s Halvan that know how to fight ‘n survive, but I’m good at the good goods and the eating.”
Geren let out a light laugh. “Easy, easy. Just a joke. You wouldn’t steer us wrong I wager. Now, as for payment for the job though…” He pretended to count on his fingers while looking up at the ceiling and mouthing wordless nonsense to himself.
“Let’s see… so that’d be…” He looked back down to Wheatloaf. “I’d say some good Halvan cooking for my crew when you’re back Hohm should suffice, wouldn’t you say?”
Wheatloaf just stared at him for a moment, a slightly agape mouth flanked by tawny mutton chops. “Th… that’s all? B-but what abouts payment?”
Geren cocked his head slightly, attempting to look confused. “What do you mean? That is payment.”
He waited until he could see the understanding come over the Halvan’s face before continuing, smirking as he spoke. “What? You didn’t seriously think we’d charge you a pretty sum of money for an escort when we’re the ones that brought you to Davied in the first place, right? Besides, we can’t let you stay here and eat all our food. We’d have to put you to work.”
Wheatloaf nodded eagerly. “Y-yes, understood! I’ll make sure that Cherry and Burntbear cook up somethin’ scrumptious for your people! Thank you!” He started to give a quick bow, then yelped and started, looking over at Feros with fear in his eyes that he may get punched like Troy did. Feros responded by baring his fangs in a wicked grin. Wheatloaf decided to simply shake Geren’s hand instead.
“Wait wait. Burntbear?” Shaugh asked. “I’ve got Burnttoast who helps me out over at my place. Is it like a common thing for Halvan to eat something burnt as their first food or what?”
Wheatloaf shrugged. “Maybe they's just have parents who’re bad at cooking?”
Geren smiled to himself, the laughing faces channeling happiness through his veins like essence in his circuits. Wheatloaf seemed pleased with himself, glad to have gotten in on the humor and banter with this group of relative strangers.
“Back on topic, everybody.” Geren said, motioning with his hands for everyone to quiet down after they'd had their fun with the joke. “Garg, Troy. This will be your second job.” The two nodded, Gargarel noticeably more excited than Troy.
“Cohn, I'll be sending you along as the veteran on the team. You guys seem to be getting along well, and it’s been some time since you’ve had a job that takes you out very far.”
His nephew gave a silent thumbs-up as he took a bite of jammed bread with his other hand.
“Jonas can get the details written up officially. You’ll head out…”
He paused, darting his eyes around the room at each face, one by one. “the day after tomorrow! Tomorrow will be a day off for everybody to do whatever they wish. You all deserve it—seriously.” He again raised his mug to a cacophony of cheers.
“Hey man, you can’t tell me to take a day off from my own restaurant!” Shaugh shouted sarcastically. “I think I might just do that though because, well, why not? I’ll let Burnttoast know it’s your fault he has to run the place solo for a whole day.” He said with a wink.
“Good, maybe he’ll be ready to take it over and you can work for us full-time.” Geren responded with a wink of his own. “As for me, I’m off to bed now. The rest of you can feel free to party however late you want. Anyone who spills blood has to clean it up though, so try to keep the fighting to a minimum.”
Downing the last of his drink, he stood and headed up the stairs, the sound of clapping and cheers resounding from below as he made his way to his room. They deserved a day off, as he’d said. What he didn’t tell them is that it may very well be the last day off that they would get for quite some time.