“Captain Valos used one of these powder cases during the siege of my ship. If I remember correctly, this is the one he used to blow the main mast to smithereens. The bullets inside the case are highly volatile and caused occasional explosions. He was almost unstoppable. If only I had found this kind of ammunition earlier.”
The usually uninterested Dargothoth joins the conversation. “Almost, you say.” He looks pleased. “How did you kill him?” A diabolical grin accompanies his intense gaze.
She looks at her boots to hide the redness across her cheeks. “I used the talent I was born with. As a siren I have some leverage when it comes to men in, you know, a romantic kind of way. Or just sexually. He let his guard down for just long enough for me to overpower him.”
No one can see the crystal in her bag flickering rapidly and only she can hear it. “Is that all you’re going to tell them, wench? You’re going to screw me, again? I could them a sweet story about you, me precious oyster. I’ll tell ‘em all the dirty things you do so well.”
She quickly jabs her elbow into her rucksack, trying to shut him up. “After every victory”, she says vociferously, talking louder than the voice inside her head, “I sang a song to my crew, most of the times on their request. I built quite the repertoire as the years went by.”
She stares into nothingness and the nothingness stares back at her. “I wonder how Vincent is doing", she whispers to herself so the others can't hear her. "If he's in danger... if he's dead, just like others. Or… what if he doesn’t miss me? What if he doesn’t need me at all?”
"Maybe you can sing one of these songs for us after we get out of this", Oslando says with a smile.
She smiles back at him. "I would like that."
“I’m very curious about your collectibles”, Mero says and he points to his chain. “When are you going to tell us the tales about how you got them? Are the stories just as exciting as Lyssa’s were?”
Bruq smiles as he looks past him at the four pedestals that still have objects floating above it. They are blurred and unclear to see.
“I can share one of the stories now while we regain our strengths. We can share the goodberries to quench our hunger and thirst. Any particular one you want to hear about?”
The satyr walks up to the wall and sits down, leaning against the chilly stones. He unchains the string of trophies and takes out a mistletoe to prepare the food. In the mean time, the puppet, cheerful as a well-fed baby, observes the trinkets.
“I’m going to listen to this story as well”, the siren says and plumps down next to them, cross-legged. “Just let me wet my pipe before you start, swabber.” She takes a greedy gulp of her precious wine.
Bruq, eyeing her over and trying not to question how intoxicated she is most of the time, slowly turns his head to Mero. “Decided which one you want?”
The sorcerer looks them over again. A metal bell without a clapper, a small leather bag with contents unknown, a dragon-like toy soldier, a crystalline monocle without the glass, a dark claw of an avian monster and a small wooden mask.
“I can tell you about the ogre tooth in my backpack if you don’t want to hear these stories.”
Mero shakes his head, making the tip of his prized possession on top of him dance. “I’ll take this one.”
“Few people live in my forest. Everyone thinks it’s not safe, but I disagree. The trees grant shelter, nature grants food and I grant protection. Rare plants grow there, powerful ingredients that can be used for bad things. Some gnoll shaman - gnolls are these hyena-like demons, quite mindless and bloodthirsty - came up with the idea he needed one of the plants to make a paste for a ritual. He needed it to paint his brethren with the symbols of their demonic god, but I didn’t let him. He was not welcome and he knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against me in my own territory. Then he sent the witherlings.” He moves the trinket within his hand, a haze spread across his eyes as he continues his story.
“You know how witherlings come to be?” Mero shakes his head and Bruq continues. “When gnolls starve or get bored, they turn against each other. The victors eat the flesh and preserve the bones, only to bring them back from the dead with some wicked ritual. They don’t get tired, they need no food. They are restless and easily bossed around. They were sent to a home of innocent people. They were growing some of these plants for medicinal purposes. I spotted them just in time. They knocked down the door as I knocked down the first of them. It was a short battle, but a terrifying one for the eight year old wood elf who saw them come in. The boy became as pale as a vampire. I smacked the gnoll’s skull off before he could hurt him, but I can only imagine how traumatizing it was for him.”
Bruq sets down the wooden figurine. His skin is painted red to resemble dragon scales, his armor is grey and he holds a spear.
“I didn’t want payment, no matter how hard the parents pushed me to take whatever I wanted. The boy, Elaith, followed me outside and handed me the toy soldier. He always thought dragons were the toughest beings alive, but now he told me I was his spear-wielding hero. He wanted me to have it so I could remember I was his hero. I thought it was sweet, so I took it with me. I don’t really think it brings me luck or something, but it’s a nice thing to remember my home by, to remember why I do this.”
Lyssa smiles at him. “Ha, I thought you were this badass hunter who took his trophies from his defeated enemies, but you play around with toys.”
He looks at her judgingly. “At least I don’t need to fuck someone into his grave to steal his gun.”
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