Dal Shabet

Amos rubbed his temples. After spending the whole day at the tournament and watching the participants tear each other apart, he felt extremely tired. "What a pointless way to spend time. How desperate must one be to voluntarily sign up for being burned, gutted, or having their head chopped off? Or, conversely, how self-assured must one be to entertain hopes of victory? You might get lucky once or twice, but sooner or later, you'll inevitably face an opponent with a dozen tricks up their sleeve, who will crush you. If you survive, you'll be left crippled and will spend the rest of your life defecating through a tube... No, the only way to win here is to secure the backing of wealthy patrons, who choose the winner. Do you think this is a fair competition? I implore you, behind every such event, there are huge sums of money and influential people," Amos reasoned, explaining to Alva and Saria the intricacies of the unfair world. "I wish this plebeian pastime would end soon so that we could get down to the real business. We still have to set sail for the far north. Didn't I mention it? We're going on an expedition with Vincent Agares himself. At least, he made me such an offer, and I told him I would think about it. After losing a hundred thousand in the casino in half an hour, I realized the futility of existence. I'll go on the voyage, why not? But I'll have to send a letter to the office, leave instructions. And take care of the house. I'll write to my brother, Hanseng. He's certainly shrewd and cunning, but he won't go against me, and he can look after things. Unfortunately, I'll have to give him access to one of my disposable accounts, and I really don't like doing that, but there's nothing I can do about it... We're heading very far north, it's probably even colder there than in the White Lands. Alva, are you really from there? What do you advise to take on the journey? And you, Saria? How did you end up in Nevermore?