Rulah: Watch your sword, Bria! Gahncai,
what’s your religion?
Goblin’s spear: SHATTER!
Rulah: Why not?
Gahncai: I don’t do religion. You?
Rulah: The Strongpeople believe in feeding, fucking, and fighting. But, y’know, with horses.
Rulah: We fight alongside horses.
Bria: No judgment. Horses are delicious.
Gahncai: I love ‘em.
Rulah: Where should I put down Ularon?
Gahncai: Uh…butchers table?
Rulah: No, too much viscera. Is that a pooping corner?
Gahncai: Yeah. Sacrificial altar?
Rulah: More viscera. Do goblins just sit, ever?
Gahncai: There. That filthy corner is the least filthy.
Rulah: Bria! Fall back!
Rulah: Goblin gods, huh?
Gahncai: They look like most primitive gods; food fucking, and fighting.
Bria: Primitive gods? In the Free Kingdom of Bria’s Hold, we have a proper religion which encourages utter services to the undead aristocracy.
Rulah: And your role is…?
Bria: Pontiff Immortus.
Rulah: I’ve got Ularon! Gahncai, we’re coming in! How’s the room?
Gahncai: Temple. Masterwork statues. Otherwise secure.
Rulah: Except for the door.
Gahncai: You told me to bust the door down.
Rulah: I had the idea that it’d be busted in such a way that it wouldn’t stop us, but it would stop a horde of goblins.
Gahncai: Well, it’s busted so the winners can eat the losers and then pick their teeth.
Bria: I’m not eating goblins!
Rulah: You little—
Rulah: Wow. Alright. Bria! Ularon is down and we’ve got a pit trap in front of us!
Bria: Regular, spikes, or acid?
Rulah: Gimme a sec.
Bottom of the Pit: Splurk!
Ularon: It’s important to feel their—
Rulah: Hrah! Busy punching, Teacher. Hrah!
Ularon: As am I. The Drophan-Bo technique combines one’s mind and body with the timing and mindset of the enemy and—
Goblin: GOBLIN CATAPULT!
Rulah: Fire fist!
Gahncai: Room’s clear!
Rulah: Teacher, may I use fire?
Ulraon: You may proceed in any way you wish, but I would pray you exercise the realms of the mind—
*crossbow bolt passes between them*
Rulah: So, ‘no’ then.
Metallurgist: 15,000 skorvans is a lot. I’ll need to arrange safe storage, confer with a blacksmith, and speak to a lawyer to draw up a payment plan.
Gahncai: I’ll need to confer with my people as well.
Gahncai: So, for a total of 15,000 minus a 2.5% half pay on neutral storage costs paid over 48 months is 300 point 68 skorvans per month.
Human street urchin: Nonono, you’re gettin’ screwed, guv. It should be 304.68 per month, minus my consultancy fee of 5 skorvans per month, paid up-front in a lump sum of about 340 skorvans. Rounded down, of course.
Gahncai: Of course.
Gahncai: You’re a lifesaver, kid.
Geoff: Y’r built like a labrador fucked a boulder, but there’s three of us, and you–don’t have a knife.
the plane of Caden, later
Gahncai: I know it’s late. Is the metallurgist in?
Metallurgist: For you, traveler? I’m always in. Put it on the table.
Gahncai: Okay, but the bag isn’t for sale.
Metallurgist: Of course. Hitlaew est
Metallurgist: The coins are gold-plated. Copper mixed with something very unusual. Fascinating. 15,000 skorvans.
Metallurgist: *sigh* The knife is worthless, but I’ll pay you 5 skorvans to throw it in the trash right now and wipe the blood off my table.
Somewhere else, another time
Gahncai: “Three aces. I win.”
Luke: “Really? ‘cause Geoff has an ace over there and Tan has an ace over there.”
Gahncai: Yes. And I have THREE aces, so I win the hand.
Tan: *sigh* count ‘em.
Gahncai: one, two, three, fooour…oh. There’s too many.
Gahncai: One of you must be cheating. I should take my money and–
Geoff: Are you stupid or something? You’ve got two aces o’ spades.
Gahncai: I’m not…’book smart.’