FOURISH SEASONS AGO
EAST CONTINENT - PARTORA NEW INTEL SUGGESTS HAMADAN
ON A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT
"So you want me to launder ten thousand weight of gold bullion?" Bard's spliff has smoked down to about half now, and smolders comfortably between his hard-set lips.
"Exactly!" Calculon has eaten, drank the scary man's funny tasting coffee, and started to relax. Business as usual! he thinks, and he hums a merry tune as he nurses a morsel of meat from between the well-picked ribs of a demolished fish.
"Well, there's a problem." the Bard says, his eyes quietly burning into Calculon's as the smoky leaf burns in his mouth.
Calculon's face falls. "Please don't shoo..."
Bard silences him with a sharp glare. "Problem is, your gold's cursed."
"Cursed?!?!" Calculon flies up from his chair, hands spasmodically grasping at his wispy golden tufts of thinning corncob hair. "How can money, glorious money, hard currency, bullion, be CURSED?!?!"
"South Island gold is all cursed," Bard states flatly. "You should have waited for a reply before loading ten thousand weight on a damned ship and sailing up here."
Calculon stares at him in shock and horror. "Cursed how?" he asks.
"Curse of death," says Bard, raising an apologetic-yet-chiding eyebrow at Calculon. "Spend it on another continent, you die. Fast."
Calculon collapses back into his chair, sinks his face into his upstretched, supplicating hands.
"I'M BROKE!" he sobs.
