Sounds important, interesting, and respectable. Though you don’t have any memories of carrying elixirs… well maybe except for one kind, but you don’t think that counts.

Celebratory purposes. You don’t remember there being a market for celebration back in Gnomanya, nor do you have any experience with making them. There also is one little problem:

Making pyrotechnics could not be a more Sorya thing to do. From cute little fireworks to giant find-out rockets that make the very soldiers next to you evaporate into red confetti, it’s their poison.

Oh, and so is eh— poison.

So maybe don’t say that.

Wow. That lines up almost exactly with your memories. You were a barmaid. Though while not the best for your self-esteem, it sure beat the brothel next door. The table pounding, experience with drunks, and the ability to recognize the type of drink you smuggled for Iron all adds up.

You also remember that you served in your city’s militia! Well, you were only in it for the hot meals, and given the state of things, your training was limited only to shooting a matchlock a few times at a statue of someone who used to be important. So, if you were actually ever called on to help repel an invading force, your city would be doomed regardless.

Moving forward, honesty might be the best way to handle this.

You explain to Captain Delaford about how the letter was written for you on behalf of a friend that wanted to see your ‘potential’ portrayed in the best possible light. That serving drinks, sweeping the floor, knowing basic weapons drills, and guarding crumbling walls wouldn’t make you very appealing.

“How is alchemical distribution the same as serving drinks?” she inquires.

“I served… elixirs of inebriation?”

“Search her.”

The captain continues as the marines search you, “I will say, you’ve proven to be quite persuasive, almost enough for me to drop my conviction that you’re a Sorya collaborator. But my job is to protect Qoth and her colonies from our enemies, regardless of how hard that slack-eared Lord Cloumont tries to impede me. So it shouldn’t come as any surprise that when dealing with your kind that I’d need to be thorough. Even from someone who appears so pathetic.”

“There are rockets in here, Captain.”  the marine rummaging through your bag reports.

“No, they’re celebratory fireworks. They’re made for fun!”

“One of them has a sinister looking skull on it.”

As your hope for a future is being crushed by your impulsive choice of grabbing pyrotechnics you don’t even think belong to you, you start to hear a ruckus coming from the passenger side of the ship. Out from the door comes a familiar face.

“SHE AIN’T NO SORYA! AND YOU KNOW IT!”

“Yer tellin’ me that miss-fluffy-green-eyes is some fruity PALMHEAD!? She’s as salty as they come! I’ve been dealing witthem long before you was hoggin’ the wet nurse! You an’ yer littoral branchies wouldn’ know a Sorya if it pissssed on yeh! SSaaaddd!!!”

“Get this unwashed drunkard out of my sight.”

“YOU and yer–Woah, I’m flyin’…”

“As for this one, I think Commander Shavaard will be delighted to meet her. Bring her aboard! The rest of you, finish the inspection and then we’ll make port at Cohv.”