SESSION RECAPS

A letter, scratched on the back of a torn-down playbill advertising a traveling circus: Your Worshipfulnessest, The sellswords you hired are doing what your ladyship ordered.  They’re behaving like real soldiers so much even your pet snake will be happy.  The tavern is not on fire, the townsfolk aren’t hiding, and there are whores in Vlaytock that prefer them to the miners that they usually spread their legs for.  The captain I spoke to is a lump of rock:  solid, boring, and painful when it hits your head.  Truly struck from the same mold as Mejten.  He says that all the supplies including your new toy are ready to be loaded when the caravan arrives.  He was properly slavish about it, too.  You’re getting what you paid for, even if a ten-day hatchling still squeaking for food could out-carouse the bunch. Vlaytock is boring.  The roads east are almost snowed-in and the only travelers were two silk-wrapped spooks, a fish and a perfumed woman.  One of the spooks was armed and the fish was the only entertainment in the entire town.  The woman acted the swell but didn’t look like she had two coppers to her name.  The innkeep said the lot were mates but didn’t know their business.  There’s enough bluejackets in town that the mine boss shouldn’t need outside rousties.  They don’t look the sort to visit mining towns on a lark.  Maybe here for the caravan too. Last minute supplies are laid in.  Barrels of the swill that passes for a grog ration were purchased from the innkeep.  The warning sent to the alchemist worked, he had enough potions to fill the order and supposedly enough to sell for personal use. I gave this letter to a runner and it should reach you the morning of the 12th.  I’m off on the other business your high and mightyness decreed.  Next time I want more money. Freezing my bloody beak off in your service, Jeen