Pasmul Dhemu
The path of least resistance rather than one of ambition led Pasmul Dhemu to trail her sometimes-lover to Mythrite from Baldur’s Gate after his failures as a young independent trader there. It was clearly easier to follow the procession of fortune-seekers than find a new roof in the competitive port city.
Her evening routine of lackadaisically dissecting every commercial misstep of her partner’s startup efforts at Mythrite’s Waterfront proved a bit too cutting one night. Despite his struggles to physically shove the tall but agile Pasmul out of their minuscule District apartment, she anyway got the point.
Finding a free nightly sleeping mat was a cinch in the overpopulated Halberd, once she observed which hostels presented the right combination of traffic, entrance placement and poor landlord oversight. But securing regular meals proved trickier and as she started catching the occasional quizzical eye in The Market, finding a job seemed less hassle.
The Services & Trades Corridor displayed only ridiculous busywork. The slow-paced Fishery might have worked but for the flies. Reclining near Mythrite’s northern gate at dusk, she scrutinized the inbound plodding parade of disordered Miners and guards. A guard captain wandered within earshot and Pasmul felt compelled to call out how the brain-dead guards were making a ridiculous mess of the camp cart reorganization, and how a few obvious changes would improve the morning’s departure.
The captain’s retort froze as he sized up Pasmul’s sharp eyes and vagrant state, then quickly considered his unit’s late departures -- a constant gripe of the miners. He flashed a coin and told her to return at dawn to prove her point.
Although oversleeping kept Pasmul from actually witnessing the unit's wagons departing in the vanguard, the captain stood waiting nonetheless. She indicated another dozen potential camp improvements and when he suddenly offered a job as a Caravan Guard she accepted. Actually more like Caravan Consultant.
The guards’ dimwittedness -- which Pasmul often mentioned -- didn’t stop them from noticing an obviously elevated workload. Fresh tasks appeared everywhere: organizing carts properly for departure, reorganizing them at the mine’s exit. Hammering equipment racks and excavating storage trenches. Felling trees and uprooting thorn bushes to reduce journey time. The captains also began recognizing which mercenaries smelled daily of ale, which hills and nooks hid the nastiest goblin bands for rousting, and which lieutenants ran the secret dice ring.
That Pasmul avoided most physical labor itself made the job reasonably tolerable, until… one night returning home, some instinct made her pass by her hostel’s entrance. At the next crossing, several figures turned away a fraction too hastily. Was that the disappearing glint of a certain baldheaded dice lieutenant? And the diagonally torn boot sole of one rather low talent ex-soldier? The one who never set the carts straight. Strange, since most guards bunked in the Camp longhouses and the Entertainment District wasn’t this direction. Perhaps it’s time to make some friends, she thought, and not always be quite so alone…
Wealth & Financial state
Working class
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