Beloc shakes his head thoughtfully. "Used to be. Now, I just do what I can to maintain a pulse and not join their ranks. Have you been to Coronet recently? The naval yard in Langdon."

"Oi was actually on me way there. Recently came up from Cartrelle and skirted along the northern tips of Reef Lake. Awful lot a' bloody business there roight now. Found some good scrap along me way though. Oi figured oi'd pay a visit to me favorite bunch a' lads here before heading down to Langdon. Oi don't go in to the city mind you, not very friendly for fellows like me. Quite easy to catch a platoon shipping out though and unload me wares that way. You all come from that way?"

Beloc nods. "You seem like a nice enough guy, so I'll give you a heads up. We were there just yesterday. A massive assault hit them from all sides and we were forced to head out early. Based on a few clues we found, it seems like part if that undead army came from here. If you're intent on heading that way, I'm not sure what you'll find, but be wary."

Krem's eyes grow wide. "Bloody bogs.. Those PCA are really pushin' in 'ard now days, ain't they". He stops to think for a moment. "So that part of me route is off the tables. Can't go back the way Oi came, too risky. Only way to go from 'ere is norf. Oi assume you lot are going that way too?".
This message was last edited by the player at 04:32, Sat 17 June 2017.

Not really wanting to show his hand, Beloc goes along with Krem. "I suppose that's the only way to go. Feels like this undead army is pushing from all sides except the north. Any other direction would be walking right into the dragon's maw. We came here to resupply and move on, but we stumbled on to this..." He motions behind him.

"You know of any other settlements further north?"

Krem shakes his head. "O'ver than th' Canopy Shape'ahs and Firewyrms, not really. Go too fah and you find yourself at Cold Tower. Nasty place, that is. Supposedly where the Bleedin' Palms got their start. It's empty now though. That's really it for norf a' here, unless you're countin' the dwarves as well. Managed to befriend a few o' them in me day, before they closed the doors a'course. But you're roight about one thing friend. It seems the PCA is divertin' their forces and tryin' to gain a big foothold in the region, an' it's gettin' dangerous all around. If you say they attacked Langdon, and they managed to wipe out the lads 'ere, that means they got the Reef Lake region surrounded. Oi was fortunate in me passin' norf of the area. Plenty a' dead - the kind that stay dead - lyin' about, waitin' for the birds. Most of em' looked like our boys, though there were a few turbans in the dirt too. Oi dunno what about that salty ol' lake drives em' to it, but the PCA want this area badly. Seem to be doing a roight bang up job at taking it too".
This message was last edited by the player at 04:33, Sat 17 June 2017.

Beloc takes in what the goblin has to say, and surprisingly two plus two finally add up. His eyes light up a moment, then tries to play it off like no big deal. "Well, I certainly couldn't fault them for it, the area is pretty nice", he says glances over to Sypher and Darius. "Pretty defensible too, with three sides water."

Attempting to not draw too much attention to his realization, he changes the subject a bit. "Say, looks like you're packing some serious gear there. I should take you over to the other, maybe they'll be interested in some of it." Beloc turns and waves him in further to the outpost.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:44, Sat 17 June 2017.

"Certainly. Oi'm always happy to meet new folk who don't want to kill me" he says, patting the trench gun attached to his sling, as he follows Beloc.

Given that the goblin is coming to talk to the rest now, Sypher steps forward and holds out a hand.  "Sypher.  Pleased to meet you, Krem.  I was practically raised at the Mirm Monastery.  There were two goblins there, our smith, Gloimaark, and one of the thera - a not quite master - Eeld.  Gloimaark was crotchety with most, but he and I got along well.  Eeld didn't talk much, and was often out on rounds on the Island, but he was well respected."

Sypher smiles wistfully, remembering things from yesterday that were more than ten years ago now.  He suddenly felt an ache to check out what happened at the monastery, especially if the PCA started at Cold Tower.  That tower was just up the road to the east from where he had been raised.  It had always been a strange, foreboding place that he was not allowed to even journey toward, much less enter.  Only the somdet phra racha khana and the Sangharaja ventured that way.

As the group walks north towards the admin building, Krem listens and nods, exchanging pleasantries with Sypher and Darius. "Can't say Oi've met either ah them blokes in me time here, but given me past experiences, Oi don't exactly seek out me own kind anymore eith'ah".

As the group enters the building, with even Darius in tow, they find Rebort looking mildly disoriented and Shiaran puzzling over several trinkets.

"Sy, who's this?"  Shiaran looks at the goblin with a neutral appraisal.  Beloc and Sypher's calm demeanor near him put her at ease as well.

"This is Krem Poot-Tooth, a traveler, scavenger, and trader.  He's on good terms with the Fildegarne military, but not under their authority."

Sypher's tone is even and without any hint of humor in it, but Shiaran grins, then covers her mouth and fake coughs as she tries poorly to suppress her laughter at the goblin's sir name.  She eventually gains control of herself, takes a deep breath, and walks over to the goblin.  She holds out a hand to shake.  "Shiaran.  Pleased to meet you, Master...uh, Kerm."  Saying the last name out loud would have sent her into a serious laughing fit, but she catches herself last second and sticks to the first.  She hopes the huge smile on her face is accepted as a genuine pleasure to meet him and not the verge of hysterical gales of laughter.

R.E.B.O.R.T. turns his attention from the searching of the office to the door as Sypher and the others come in. Puzzled, he looks over at Shiaran, to Krem, then back to Shiaran. He remains standing behind a desk of disheveled papers. "Well met, Mr. Poot-tooth. I am prototype number two-six..."

As his introduction starts drawing strange looks, he cuts his call sign designation short. "Most people call be Rebort."

Shiaran whirls away from the goblin when Rebort says his name.  Her shoulders bounce up and down in silent laughter as she returns to searching for useful bits of information or gear.

R.E.B.O.R.T. steps from behind the desk and stands beside Shiaran. "Shiaran?" He looks up to the others, who stand there doing nothing, and then back to Shiaran. "Are you alright? I am unfamiliar with these symptoms. Are you sick? Choking?"

He looks over to the newcomer. "Mr. Poot-Tooth, do you have a healing kit we may borrow?"

Beloc rolls his eyes at the construct. "She's not sick or dying, you..."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:46, Mon 19 June 2017.

Before Beloc can add anything else to his comment, a disembodied voice calls out. "No, no, no. There's nothing wrong with her. She's merely trying to stifle her uncontrollable laughter. Rightfully so, it would be considered rude to mock one's surname in such a manner." The voice sighs heavily. "I knew I should have spent more integrating social interactions into your behavior module. Such is life, I suppose, when you meet with an untimely end. So much work, so little time..." The voice trails off after the last sentence.

Though his mouth isn't moving, the voice appears to be coming from R.E.B.O.R.T.

The voice you hear doesn't match that of any other you've heard yet. To get an idea of what you're hearing, try to imagine the voice of John Cleese.

Shiaran almost fails to contain herself.  The only thing that saves her is the new voice, a subject of curiosity that overrides her tickled mind.  She looks at Rebort wide-eyed, then narrows them and frowns.  She takes a step away from Rebort, hand on her sai.  "Who is that?"

R.E.B.O.R.T. looks down at his chest. If there were any surprise in his expression, one couldn't really tell.

"Oh dear, where are my manners? My name is Warren Ewes." As the voice speaks, the gem socketed in his chest pulses synchronously in time with each syllable.

After a short, but awkward pause, the voice speaks again. "Is he bowing? He's not bowing, is he?" The voice lets out another sigh. "Dreadful, but I suppose the fault's mine. That'll teach me to go and pop my clogs before implementing his etiquette protocols. Where was I? Oh, yes, I was the chief behaviouralist and analytical engineer working on the bio-organic reconnaissance trooper project. While I was responsible for creating his mind, my colleague Charles Riddick, built most of the physical systems."

R.E.B.O.R.T. looks up from the docent, eyes focused on Shiaran.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:53, Tue 20 June 2017.

"You are Rebort's...dad?"

"Hmm, I never looked at it that way, but I suppose it's a fair comparison. I guess you could say he has two fathers. Charles and myself. After the incident, my consciousness was transferred to this docent, and Rebort was left in Darius' charge. Uncle Darius, if you will." The tiny voice chuckles at his own joke. "Now then, don't let me distract you all. I'm sure you have far more pressing work to attend to. Knees up everyone!"

R.E.B.O.R.T. looks over to Darius. "Uncle Darius?"

Darius gives a knowing grin. "Eh. I suppose I can settle for Uncle. Though since Uncle Warren created you, I think of us more as cousins".
This message was last edited by the player at 10:50, Tue 20 June 2017.

Krem has remained respectfully silent for the time. Looking at Shiaran, he remarks "Aye, me surnames Poot-Toof. Been me family name for three generations now. Me grandfathah was cursed by a shaman, gave 'is family line a wicked case a' the halitosis. Incurable. Dreadful business. Funny fing about goblins, we don't get t' pick our surnames; that's the elder. Who just so happened to be that rotten shaman. Oi just deal wiff it at this point in me life. On to a more importin' question though. Where can Oi get me a set a' armor like the fella wiff the talkin' chest? Roight puts me plate to shame, it does".
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Tue 20 June 2017.

"That, my dear green skinned acquaintance, is a thing, not a fellow. No offense to your being of course, Rebort. He is a mechanical man. An automaton. The product of mithril and arcane magics ensorcelled together to create that which has never graced the green grasses of this world. He is my life's work, of which I'm proud of".
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 02:27, Tue 20 June 2017.