Rothgar scratched his beard. Red had the manners of a dwarf. Crossed with the thirst of a dwarf. Crossed with... well, that ass sure wasn't dwarven. He averted his gaze and slid to the floor.<br/><br/>"No other questions, sir."<br/><br/>Once dismissed, the next two hours were a mad rush to scrape together supplies. Half of what he'd brought with him when he signed onto the ship was lost, either stolen, misplaced, or appropriated for other purposes. He made up what he could, borrowing liberally from the ship's stores. He was sure to pack his sole remaining bottle of Oxblood Magma, a curiously strong dwarven liquor that was best enjoyed a few drops at a time.<br/><br/>With no time to spare he arrived at the longboat bay, pulling a small handcart behind him whose contents threatened to shatter, explode or escape with each step.<br/>