“Aw man, these idiots!” Lucio Pavlec angrily jerked a chair away from the table, turning it backwards to he could straddle it as he joined his cohorts, “I’ve reasonably explained to everyone in the local magical community--even the slack-jawed Globs who are part of that rolling, trinket-peddling sideshow that passes for a trade caravan outside,” he took a minute to wave with faux friendliness at a pair of the aforementioned Galeb Duhrs, who took his ethnic slur in classic, stoic stride,“ and no one is interested in talking about this ‘Ghost.’ This is a massive waste of time.”
The Elven woman and the Halfing shared a knowing glance before the Halfing spoke up with a cheerful unflappability that had seen most tests Lucio could pose, “Everyone I talked to seemed straightforward enough; he was here for four months, escorted adventurers to the ruins for a steep fee. Almost never returned with any of them.”
Lucio looked away sullenly, “They probably thought you were him,” he then turned to regard his companion suspiciously, “where have you been since we last crossed paths, Dire Fox?”
The Halfing suppressed a sigh. He’d repeated his name to Lucio until the point of exhaustion, but the wizard was simply too self-absorbed or intentionally offensive to have remembered it. Probably both. When they had first met, five years and three sojourns ago, his appellation had been “Little Guy,” but Lucio hadn’t even bothered to remember that. At least this was a step up.
“I’ve been amongst civilized people, Lucio. The kind with manners.”
“Funny, I don’t remember seeing you there.”
“I learned that he actually was a Halfling,” the Elven woman offered, heading off another round of sniping. The information put a smirk on Lucio’s face while it earned her a pointed glare from Dire Fox.
“But,” she added, “He was a mage,” the news reversed her companions’ expressions, while she passed a secret grin to Dire Fox before capping it off, “probably a Warlock.”
Dire Fox returned the smile. Very little could derail Lucio’s lifelong mission to annoy, harass, and bring trouble to those who chose to align themselves with him, and warlocks were one of those things. Despite every irritating facet of his personality, nay, his existence, Lucio Pavlec did have a work ethic and had apparently never looked highly upon those who’d simply borrowed power through an oath. Maybe this time, things wouldn’t go quite so poorly.
The floors of the bar rumbled slightly as a third Galeb Duhrs entered. The two who had been waiting began a slow, but direct trip towards the table of the three adventurers. Their friend noticed and turned his stocky, rocky body for the same destination.
Maybe not.
Next Chapter
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