RickMo the halfling mouthed his cigar and considered his cards. This "Whist" was not a game he was familiar with, but it bore some similarities to Cripple Mr. Onion, which he'd played countless times. Besides, all card games were the same, it was as much about reading your opponents, and in the case of pair games like this, your partner, as it was strategy. And luck of course. And if there was one thing RickMo excelled at it was luck.
"You'd figure being undead would give them more of an advantage in not giving away their hand" he mused to himself. Despite all the rotted skin and bare bone showing through, they were positively riddled with tells. He absentmindedly signaled the waitress for a beer, before remembering that Dakhir had been quite adamant to not eat or drink anything in this ghostly place.
Guess it made sense, given this entire inn had been a five hundred year old ruin during the daytime, a fact which it seemed to have completely forgotten as soon as the sun set.
Still, it was nine hells of cold in here, even with both those fires roaring, and the amount of snake eyes the crap table was rolling was impossible to believe. Probably better to listen to the Warlock. Rickmo reluctantly took the beer that was handed to him and set it aside.
The halfling studied his hand. It wasn't a great hand, however Leftenant Foxsil, his partner was tugging the remains of his ear the way he did when he was excited. "If he keeps doing that it is going to come off completely" Rickmo thought amusedly.
RickMo's gut said play to Foxsil, and Rickmo listened to his gut. "I'm all in, gents" he announced cheerfully, pushing a stack of moldering coins into the center of the table. "Like my momma always said, you only live once. Oh. Right. sorry."
The undead revenant on RickMo's left scowled with what was left of his lips and hesitated. "What, ar ye lily'd Boxwayne" sneered Foxsil. "I hear'd that about you army pukes, that ye be lily'd in the clutch o'it".
Definitely some branch-of-service rivalry here, I can use that" thought RickMo.
Boxwayne scowled again and matched RickMo's raise, then played a 7 of spades, the trump suit.
Foxsil played an 8 and took the trick.
"Aces and Eights all night Foxsil, starting to think mahaps the Navy be palmin," muttered Cormic the other "army puke" as Foxsil called them.
"Say that outside, but bring yer sabre" growled Foxsil in response.
Internally RickMo winced a bit. He was pretty sure Foxsil hadn't been cheating but of course Rickmo had been. Not-cheating was not really a thing that occurred to RickMo as a possibility. He was intellectually aware that some people played games of chance that way but for the life of him couldn't understand why. He hadn't had anything to do with that last hand though.
"Now gents" said RickMo in a soothing voice. "This is a friendly game right. Friendly.".
"Aye" said Cormic after a long pause.. "I reckon tis Boxwayne's deal".
The deal traversed the table. RickMo looked at his hand. Three aces including the Ace of Spades, Three eights, and a beautiful run of spades to go with the ace. The dealer turned the last card face up to select the trump suite. Spades. "Shit". thought RickMo. For a moment he considered throwing the round to avoid trouble. But only for a moment.
A few tricks later RickMo was staring down the barrel of an extremely long and ugly looking pistol. "I knows a sharper when I sees one" Cormic growled, his dead eyes and rotting face hovering a few inches from Rickmo's. His breathe was truly terrible. "I hope ye be prepared to meet yer gods little man".
And suddenly The Sturg was there, his hand closing over the mouth of the gun and pushing it away from Rickmo. This undead might be strong, but The Sturg was stronger. After a brief test of strength, Cormic screamed. an unholy sound, and, unable to bring the barrel back online, pulled the trigger anyway blowing a hole straight through The Sturg's gauntleted hand, still grasping the end of the barrel. "Oh shit" thought RickMo. "That's really going to piss him off" as he rolled under the table, emerging behind the unfortunate Cormic-who-is-about-to-die. Again.
The rest of the party leapt into motion. With elven grace Marius vaulting up to one of the second story balconies that overlooked the great hall and began to lay down arrows as several more "army pukes" left their spots at the bar and joined the fray. Foxsil yelled a battle cry and joined in on the side of the Party. Dakhir wove fire with his hands.
An hour later, as the party's longboat beat a hasty escape across the harbor toward the anchored Lady Jezebel, the inn burned merrily behind them. "This happens to a lot the inn's we visit, I've noticed" remarked Whisperleaf.
"This time it wasn't my fault" said RickMo. "Or Freddy's either for once. And hey at least Foxsil says he owes us one now. And Sturg managed to liberate a pretty big keg of rum there. Should make the Jack Tars happy at least."
"I wouldn't worry about it, I would not be surprised at all if tomorrow night that Inn is pristine again. I think we need to talk to this 'Admiral of the White'" said Dakhir thoughtfully.
"While you were busy getting us into a fight I was talking to the innkeeper. He kept going on about something called 'The Recall' and said that the entire western Annwyn navy had already sailed for home. Except for the Admiral, a couple frigates and a small crew that stayed behind for some reason. He mentioned that if the Admiral ordered it, we could be provisioned for that voyage back to Annwyn"
"I've heard of the Recall." mentioned Whisperleaf. "Five hundred years ago the entire Annwyn Empire just.... Left. All their ships, and armies, scattered all over the globe went home and were never seen again. To this day, no one knows what happened, other then some rumor of catastrophe back at their home islands. No one who goes to Annwyn ever comes back. Big mystery.
Talking to the Admiral seems like a reasonable next step. I am pretty curious what exactly is going on here anyway, maybe he could shed some light on that as well. And who knows maybe we can solve a historical enigma or two?"
"Your curiosity will be your death, Druid." said Marius. "We are here to resupply, nothing more."
"Of course, of course" said Whisperleaf. "Nothing more."
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