“Ugh,” grunts Scepter, frowning while rubbing his shoulder where his right arm used to be. His complexion pale from blood loss, eyes rheumy with drink. “Let’s just get the hell back to Cheliax and leave it be.”
The Paracount Julistar slams his goblet against the table causing pale wine to splash over the edge. “Because it is OUR responsibility to fix this. He was one of ours.”
“Well fuck it, I’m gone either way.” the beautiful redhead Lonicera snaps. “Ever since that pyramid everything’s gone to shit. Xaven’s dead, you’re missing your arm. Hroken!” She points at Scepter and he grimaces. “Maybe that team out of Katapesh is hiring they seem to be having some luck.” she mumbles.
“But WHY Julistar?” Scepter growls.
“Because by Asmodeus it is our DUTY! And he has the stone.”
“Well count me out too, I’m in no condition to fight! At least until I get this grown back.” Scepter indicates his stump.
Julistar fumes at his two colleagues. “And how do you expect to pay for it? Regeneration is not cheap you know.”
“I. Can’t. Fight one-armed!”
Julistar glares at the assassin, whose expression changes from fury to despair as he realizes that Julistar would have to be the financier of any healing magic he would need to replace his arm. Then Julistar’s countenance softens.
“No you are right,” he sighs. “But you can contribute. Lonicera, while you are trying to see if those good folk from the south we betrayed once are hiring, do you mind bringing them a message?” He hastily starts to scrawl a message in perfect Kelish.