Broson is sitting at the table to his left at the end is
Zabova, across is the Brecht proctor, James, newly met. Everyone at the table
had a lot to drink. The Brecht is clearly drunk, as is Zabova. It is very late,
and the common room at the Crummy Crab is nearly empty.
James
slouches in his chair which is facing Zabova. He is balancing the chair in
front of him on its back legs by pushing the edge of the seat with his foot.
The waitress approaches with his pitcher of wine and sets it on the table. The
chair clatters noisily to the ground.
"Thank
you, my dear," says James, his accentless Aniurian betraying his foreign
background. He fills his cup, closes his eyes, and passes his hand over his
cup. The cup frosts then condensation forms.
"The
climate here is dreadful," he says, "I am surprised not everyone is
malarial from living in this swamp of a midden heap… Typical of a warrior of
Haelyn. So self-righteous, 'I'm right! End of debate'. Just like the
missionaries. I mean… he has the ring. They don't exactly hand out Imperial
Signets to anyone." He continues a conversation from earlier in the night.
"She
has wisdom. I have traveled along with her. She is a brave and dangerous
warrior and has survived when others have not. You may want to heed her
counsel." The Vos woman thought quietly for a moment then continues.
"After all, have you seen any of his so-called 'connections'? Can we say, for sure, those men we saw him with are imperial officers?"
The drunken proctor rolls his eyes and shrugs, "Still, the ring though?"
Broson deftly pockets his personal snifter, while the proctor sets up the chair again. He starts balancing it.
Broson rises, "Anyone can steal a ring. " He reaches down to the table and sets a golden object spinning. He turns and mounts the stairs. Off to bed.
The object slows, it is obviously a ring. When it settles, the two remaining companions see the imperial signet on it.
As Broson closes the door to his room, he hears the chair clatter to the floor again.
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