In a toymaker's workshop...Sigmund, feeling like he's intruding upon
Morton and the toymaker's teamaking domain as well as realizing he has better things to do right now, goes ahead and excuses himself.
"Certainly, Morton. I feel that I'm not needed here anymore, so I think that I will use the time you are preparing what will surely be an excellent tea to do some business. And considering that you now are able to use this device you gave me, I'm going to give it back to you, in case you happen to need it," he says, placing the magical lighter in one of Morton's drawers.
"I guess that I will see you back at the ship, then. I would wish you luck at that tea making but you don't need it. I suppose that I will see you at the ship.""Thank you, good Sir Sigmund, I wish you luck in your business," Morton replies, making a purely hand-based bow as Sigmund heads out.
"It shall be but a moment, good Sir Toymaker, the tea shall be prepared," Morton then tells the toymaker, heading for the door and... opening it easily! Yes! His arms, they work! He heads right into the kitchen, which doesn't look like much - it only has a hearth and several tables, plus a set of cups. Hardly like the kitchen on the ghost ship, but what can you do? Checking that he does indeed still have one pitcher's worth of spring water, Morton sets about making tea.
[Teamaking roll: 2+
1]
He runs into a problem, though, being a tad vertically-challenged as well as incapable of smelling. As such, he's not really sure what he's making there and how it's going - he can tell the water's boiling, but as for the proper steeping and such... well, that might be a problem.
Sigmund, meanwhile, makes his way to the Bargain of Ages. Fortunately managing to navigate the various crossroads with some difficulty, he comes to the pier where he last saw the ship.
However, it's not there anymore. How terrible. Well, guess he'll head to the ghost ship.
Luckily, that's hardly as uninhabited. Looks like ol' treeface is chilling in a comfy chair and the Artiste seems to be looking at the surrounding landscape.
At the Feisty Jelly...Scott tries to explain to the man that smuggling is not what he seeks to do at all.
"No, no, my good sir. We need catering for a private party, I doubt a man such as you would like hordes of drunken undead shuffling about his property, who knows what could happen...""Hm... that's a reasonable point. Not sure undead can get drunk, but... hm. Got no haulers to bring any crates to ya, though. Like I said, not a delivery service here. If y'can find some people who'll do that, we might have a deal."On the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...Niklas, having better things to do with his seating space than host
Mark skeletal behind, tries to terrify the fellow somehow!
[Intimidation roll: 4-
1]
He makes an impatient squeak at Mark and wobbles a bit, possibly urging him to get out!
[Mark will roll: 1]
Mark, meanwhile, briefly considers why this chair has a soul. A soul vaguely resembling that of Niklas, no less.
Eh, probably so it's more comfortable and is capable of actually loving whoever sits in it. It's working, Mark would say.
As this goes on, Niklas feels the creature grow sad.
"My parents told me you were no good for me after you raided our village, but I didn't listen! I should have seen it coming, really. Do you even remember my name?"Her name... was it Helsvarbjornlingharalgjanna? He thinks he remembers someone by that name.