Before Matwau can crack the glass with his tomahawk, Antillios subdues him. At first, the tribal warrior resists Antillios's pleas for restraint. He struggles, snarling, attempting to raise his weapon for a shattering blow, but the dwarf not only matches his effort but reassures him with language.
"Now, now, Matwau, my man, remember what you said about the ambush..."
"...you must learn new ways to hunt. The cub can't strike the lioness that would teach him..."
Matwau's arms fall limp and the tomahawk drops to the ground. When he tries to get Antillios to tell him how much he must pay to disappear, the warlock instead comforts him, a brotherly hand upon his shoulder.
They
talk it out.
~~~
Meanwhile, Gethin walks to the counter and taps the bell on it. It vibrates at a high frequency, keening, although for what it might mourn can't be known. A full ten seconds pass and then ten more till the bell ceases its lamentations.
Clomp.
Clomp.
Clomp.
That sounds comes from below, not from above, and draws Gethin's attention to the floor behind the counter where he notices a trapdoor. As he watches, the door opens, and a neatly-dressed concierge emerges. He's a slim man, wearing a white and blue vest and a tidy bellboy hat. His voice, resoundingly chipper and cheerful, beckons:
"Welcome to the Emperor of Curd. I'm Chester. We're a full-service hotel. Do you have any more luggage? My name is Chester. Trans or Res?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:54, Sat 28 Mar 2009.