“It is a bullshit job, Gundren!” Valdriss slams his empty mug on the table. “And I need another beer if we’re going to keep talking.”
Gundren grunts and nods, waves to the waitress for another round of the watered down horse piss that passes for beer at The Randy Goat.
“Look, Valdriss, it’s easy money. You ride out to Phandalin, spend the night, and ride back.”
“Exactly! It’s bullshit, and if I wasn’t dead broke I wouldn’t even be talking to you.” Valdriss winks lecherously at the barmaid, claims the proffered beer, and takes a long pull.
“Make it ten Dragons each, and I can probably drag my brother and sister along. Do you want Pietas too? I know for a fact that devil-boy won’t do this shit job for less than ten Dragons.”
“Done! You round up a full crew of four and that saves me some footwork; ten Dragons each.”
The dwarf stands, shakes hands roughly with Valdriss. “I’ll see you in Phandalin Fifthday next. Sildar will have the wagon ready to go tomorrow morning.” Gundren disappears into the stale smoke blanketing the common room.
A smirk of triumph spreads across Valdriss’s face. “Ten dragons each,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. “That dwarf must be real desperate.”
“Elena!” Valdriss bellows across the room as the waitress passes nearby. “Bring me a bottle of that really sweet red wine from Waterdeep. Manycherries! That’s the one.”
Elena comes to the table with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. She measures Valdriss with a doubtful up-down glance. “You’ve got money, Valdriss?”
“I’ve got a job!”
“So you’re not going to pay now.”
“Well, not exactly, but I’m good for it. Gundren just offered to pay five Dragons each to me and my mates for a quick trip up to Phandalin. I’ll pay as soon as I’m back. Two tendays, tops.”
“Sounds like bullshit to me.”
“Oh, no doubt, the job is bullshit, but it’s easy bullshit and it pays five gold Dragons. C’mon, Elena, I’m good for it! When have I lied to you?”
Elena’s eyes widen in exasperated surprise. “Where do you want me to start? With your boasts of wealth and station when we first met? Or how about your profession of eternal love for my, how did you put it, ‘indelible feminine charms?’ And don't even get me started about the time you brought that tart Megan –”
Valdriss, hands raised in surrender, sputters and stammers, “Yes, Elena, but, no. No. Wait. Wait! When have I ever lied to you about money?”
Elena pauses in her tirade, head cocks to the side and eyes narrow accusingly.
“OK. When have I ever lied about paying?”
Elena plunks the bottle on the table with a huff and slides the glass in front of him.
In an exaggerated Waterdhavian accent: “What? Not going to pour a taste so I can approve the vintage?”
“Not likely, sir! You won’t even taste it after all the beer you’ve had, jackass,” and Elena flounces off to a nearby table before Valdriss can retort.
Valdriss grins drunkenly, slops wine into the glass with dribbles on the table, and raises his glass, “It’s good to have a job.”
Valdriss spends the rest of the night dicing, drinking, and entirely forgetting to round up the crew to meet Sildar the next morning.
