He’d handled the removal of Briefadel’s ‘scum’ mercenaries from the adventurers poorly though. He’d hoped that being subtle and removing the three men out of sight of their ‘Masters’, would have made everything easier but, instead, he’d managed to infuriate and accidentally antagonise the ex-gladiator; Fortu.
The other thing that bothered him was the story that the Demi-Elf Bard shared with him yesterday, during their debriefs. Could those strange, gourd-like barrels truly contain the ‘Elixir of youth’? That the pool they were drawn from would stave off the skeletal hands of the Grim Reaper himself?
Pulling off one of his heavy metal gauntlets, Captain DeLeón inspects the back of his own hand. He’s only in his forties and still full of vim and vigour, but the lines are beginning to show. Is it possible that, less than a month’s ride away, lies the secret to eternal life?
Still, it seems likely that, considering the fact that the very same pool lays atop the dimensional portal mentioned, this would also be the place Sir Briefadel and his hellish army would probably reemerge from.
The Captain bites his bottom lip for a moment, before shaking his helmed head. One month there and one month back. Two months too long to relinquish his position to one of his underlings at such a vulnerable time.
Smiling wryly, Captain DeLeón shrugs and mutters out loud.
“I guess I’ll just have to earn my immortality the old fashioned way; with tales of my glorious and heroic death in battle!”
His smile falters a little though.
“I wonder if that Rifkin fellow would compose and perform it for me?”
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