… and that’s how he earned the name Drippy.
Anyway, where was I?
Right, so we had tracked Andross to the South Arcadian Whaling Company compound. While some of our company followed the mob and some reconnoitered the compound, the rest of us (spearheaded by myself… again… this is becoming a recurring refrain, I might add) decided to assault the gatehouse. Unfortunately, the door was barred. However, I do try to keep a portable battering ram handy for just such an occasion. While Sharta kept the human mercenaries busy by exchanging fire with them, I finally succeeded in breaking through a window in the gatehouse (where previous attempts to get through the barred door had failed).
Once we entered the gatehouse, we saw that the commotion we’d caused had suggested to the occupants that they move elsewhere. So we managed to get inside without incident. However, exiting into the compound was another matter entirely. Of course the mercenaries were waiting. But, being the mere humans they were (and quite possibly insane, as well, judging from that Umagro fellow’s ranting and carrying on) they were little obstacle to me. And my companions. The first few humans died relatively quickly and easily.
The fellow we saved to the end, however, seemed particularly shaken up. It may have been that he’d seen his compatriots dispatched with such efficacy. Or that seeing Umagro, in a fit of insanity, jump down amongst the mob outside and promptly be torn apart had had some effect. Or, who knows, the mercenaries we had just killed may have been this survivor’s brothers. Sometimes I find it a little hard to tell humans apart. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps this fellow, the eldest brother of a family of children, had tearfully promised his ailing mother on her deathbed that he would look after his soon-to-be orphaned brothers (their father having died a year previous in a terrible millstone accident). Perhaps, upon burying her, the eldest brother had decided that he and his brothers, being of able body, could seek work as sellswords in a city, the work being somewhat lucrative and low-risk. And thus, they had set out sad but still clinging to those warm embers of hope that fortune and a better life were within grasp. And so, the brothers had worked for some time, long trying months but always coming home to one another with their daily wages to break bread together as a family, finding happiness and comfort in the company of what remained of their loving family.
And then, they encountered us.
Well… perhaps I merely let the tragic poet in me get away for a moment. Like I say, I have a hard time telling humans apart, much less identifying members of the same family.
Anyway, upon interrogation of the survivor, we find that they had firebombed our warehouse and taken Andross on the orders of one of the other expeditions. Well, given that the bodies of this fellow’s brothers (or possibly not, I didn’t ask him if they were, in fact, his brothers) still had vials of Alchemist’s Fire upon them, we thought it only right that we should return them to their rightful owners.
So we firebombed the warehouse of the expedition that had hired Umagro and the mercenaries.
After this long day, we reported back to Chivane news of all that had transpired. She mentioned that she knew of someone who might be able to guide our expedition. Some hermit by the name of Nkechi. Who enjoys sea creatures far more than is healthy. And enjoys sending people on strange, curious, usually-fatal quests.
Which reminds me of a funny story involving this baker and this prostitute I once met in Magnimmar…