There was that word again, Runechild. Scanlan hadn’t pried into that part of Gilmore’s life, but from what he could gather, it had certainly been a source of trouble for the other man. Great power, great problems, he surmised. Living that life must have taken a toll on Gilmore to protect himself. Preya really did provide a good escape in that sense. He wondered if anyone here had heard of the word before.
“For what it’s worth,” he piped up, an image of a particularly sweet older couple coming to mind, “when we saw your parents, they couldn’t have been more proud of you. What you chose to do and give up really paid off. I don’t think any of that makes you a bad person, Gilmore.”
It was a familiar story nonetheless. If Scanlan could turn things around with the same flair Gilmore had, he knew he could be happy here too.
“Haven’t I already paid the price?” He asked, head cocked with a half-smirk. “I came here, and there’s no turning back now. I suppose I’m having some buyer’s remorse. I wouldn’t wish this on Vox Machina if they came here to find me. I don’t want to be responsible for more than I’ve already done.”
He finished off his glass, a nice warmness spreading inside him. It didn’t take much for gnomes to feel a good drink.
The gate stone still lay on the counter among the wine samples. Scanlan reached for it, hesitated, then took a bottle of something else he hadn’t tried instead. “If I see them again, it should be because they chose to come here the same way we did. Not because of the gate stone's magic."