Etiquette!
It’s twenty miles from Dorim Iduinath the town to Guantánamo the ghost-haunted garrison, and every damned mosquito in Cuba was lining it. Unfortunately, the old road was still in good shape, too. You see that in ghost-haunted areas: most critters are too smart to stick around places like that, so you won’t get beaver dams or animal dens or tar-eaters or the other things that mess up Old American roads.
You do get plenty of insects, though. Naturally, none of the ones here touched Mahota at all. They probably didn’t want to fill out the paperwork, I grumbled as I slapped on more unguent. It wasn’t designed for this place, but it was better than nothing.
Then I handed off some more to Sisk. She had been waiting for us when we set out, toting a new-looking adventurer’s pack. Well, you have to start sometime. “Thanks,” she replied. “Those becky bastards went through all my stuff, too.”
“That’s bad form,” I replied. “It’s one thing when you’re dead and hopefully won’t care anyway, but knocking a party member out, then looting them? You don’t do that.”