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You tromp off into the darkness towards Moar Oww's position, hauling two battered suitcases.
The bigger one, canvas with cardboard backing, holds your noice new Mercantines, clothes n shoes n workbibs as any respectable trader, chandler, or crafthand might present. The shoes were more difficult to make: they had to get larger sizes then trim down the sides, on account of Gobby toes having one more joint than theirs.
The other suitcase, smaller, crumbly leather with brass bits, holds the hats, bathy things, kus-kus smaels, pattyface, and the spiffy Drood dudz. Up close it looks kindy shabby and old, just well cleaned, but you've no doubt that you'll look soopa cash flashing this. People will just get out your way from respect without you needing to waste effort threatening them. You're not sure what you might do if they ask you Droody stuff, but you'll figger it out.
You're fairly certain no one's trailing you, but to make sure you get Moar Oww to help you check once you're deeper innawoodz.
Moar Oww floats up a bit, just below the treetops, and does its thing 120' Complete Dark vision + {Detect Living}, scanning the surrounds in a widening spiral.
When you feel safe enough you <span class="mu-g">*HEEEEET*</span> it back, start stowing your extorts inna Pouch, and stock up on Ceremonying Gui Li. Get it over with while you're rested.
Seafood's going to come here in a few hours; the next week might be busy.
°°°
He's gotten fatter. You don't point it out but he has. Must be the cushy living. You envy him. You keep the impulse to rob him as far deep inside as you can; if he sees it on your face you're going to suffer for it.
He's got new duds too: peasanty travel clothes, a floppy hat, a whistle on a chain, and two foody bags. You already know he's not sharing.
He takes in your report, looking over your fresh lewts his eyes flash at seeing the Druid "Pied Brett", and he touches it; it's on his mind to rob you. But he doesn't.. Then you tell him about using the zappies in the Beed Trinkkittz to get into the Dorfy Fort. This gets his interest.
You sweep all the trashed papers you swotted from the Dorfy Sitch Room onto the floor Seafood glances at the squatty pinnup; he looktidder tiddz, lal and get to uncrumpling them in a spread.
Most of it is in Dorfish, which Seafood doesn't know yet. Some are missives or order chitties, written in Humie or Rhea; these he can make out. There are also rough maps of the area and the land beyond the Foit Ground.
He sits some Times sitting n finking while you and Moar Oww keep perimeter.
Reffijjee stragglers, for the most part. A food wagon train under Humie and Rhea escort. The reffijjee Rheas don't touch the food wagins, since these have to be signed over to the Dorf Fort; they don't steal if it gets their own in trouble. They wait until someone else is responsible. <span class="mu-i">Then</span> all the sossijjiz go missing.
Liddle shits.
