The First Guest

Boisin laughed at Foibur’s pained expression as the dice came up in his favour yet again. Foibur had spent many hours examining the dice, but could not fathom why he lost to his half-brother so often. This was a source of great amusement to Boisin, who knew the trick was in the wrist, not the dice … and who it must be said got great satisfaction from taking Foibur’s copper pieces.

“Pay up, yer worthless maggot, ye lose again!”
“By the gods, Boisin, I swears that one day I’ll find ye out”

Foibur parted with the coin reluctantly and stood up quickly, “I’ll go check our guest”. Boisin grunted his reply as he counted out the copper from one hand to the other. Twenty-seven pieces in tonights game … a nice haul. His weatherworn features were all smiles in the light of the camp fire, and he chuckled to himself. This was turning into a fairly profitable trip.

Several other dwarves were engaged in conversation around the fire, but Foibur ignored them all as he made his way to where the stranger slept. It occurred to him that he should hate this stranger, with his half-elven features, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Foibur recognised in the drow the spirit of a warrior, and had noticed the odd battle scar on his body as they had been travelling, which had led him to a vague grudging respect for the drow … one soldier to another, like.

The drow was sleeping now, and the dwarf tiptoed around his feet to where his pack lay. Grudging respect or not, a dwarf had to make a living, right? Foibur quietly opened the pack, then felt the knife against his throat. “S’alright, stranger, I was just checking yer were ok an’ all … comfortable, like”. The stranger lowered the knife, his point made, and settled back down.

Foibur quietly cursed his ungainly feet and wandered back to the campfire where Boisin was still counting out coin, probably for the tenth time. “Quit rubbin’ it in would yer, Boisy”. Boisin laughed, then his expression grew a little more serious. “Whatcha think we should do wiv ‘im, Foibs?”, he asked his half-brother. “Don’t ask me, Boisy, yer leadin’ this merry trip”.
“Remind me not to ask yer advice again, yer empty headed sunnova wood-elf”
“Well, if yer askin’ me, I says we kill him, grab his stuff, and dump the body”, suggested Foibur. “We’re traders, Foibs, not killers … don’t be stupid”, came the irritated response.
“Listen, Boisy, the lad wants takin’ as far as the next town .. le’s just take ‘im there and let ‘im be on ‘is merry way. He’s quick wi’ that knife of ‘is … What say ye?”
“Aye, we’ll let him be then … tho’ the sooner we gets rid of him the better … no good for a dwarf in the pots business to be seen consortin’ wiv the likes of an elf … an a drow at that.”, Boisin recalled an incident where a gnome that travelled with them for a while instilled a mistrust into his regular customers – they all claimed Boisin had had the gnome tamper with the goods. No, having strangers around your market stall was not good for business.

“’right Foibs … when we hit West Brindin we’ll drop ‘im off … be no good tryin’ to sell the stuff in Brindinford wiv ‘im hangin’ around the stall”.

And with that, they both went back to drinking ale. Boisin got his dice out, and rattled them in Foibur’s direction with a sly grin on his face. Foibur took the dice, sighed deeply, and rolled them onto the floor …