When the couple offer their jewellery to the team, Quire's eyes flicker momentarily to the body of their child. "I... I thank you for the offer, but I couldn't possibly take your money. I have done nothing to deserve it." A feeling of nausea threatens to overwhelm him. And I need a drink. No, a whole raft of drinks. No, I'm going to empty every bottle on this ship before we reach port.

"As for you," Quire turns in the direction of the sword, seemingly addressing thin air. "You need to shut whatever orifice you're speaking through right now. The fact that you want to go to Karrnath is reason enough to make sure you never get there. But if you keep talking, I'll also make it my personal business to end your wretched existence post haste. Do I make myself clear?!"

Quire then marches over to one of the beds, grabs the thickest quilt he can find and lays it out on the floor. Using his glaive, he pitches the sword into the bedding and wraps it up tightly, tearing strips from a sheet to tie the whole package together.

"So, who wants to carry this cursed piece of iron?" he asks his companions.