Well, as he is now sad and you are now full, he might as well pet you while you take a nap at his knees – that's what sad people like, right? 

Your new friend pulls out the bone dice, rolling it in between his fingers and you settle in for a nap.

In your dream you are on a ship. You know it's a dream, because in real life, you would never set a single toe bean on one of those.

The captain is on the deck – you have seen her around the dock and you have heard people talking about her. The head of the Regalls, “Lady” Jolee Whitfield. You don’t know any other “ladies”, but apparently she was a royal back in her home and she is trying to impose her royal authority here. The only authority you respect is your own, so this doesn’t bother you.

“Now, don’t get into a flap over it, you lubber,” she says to the man next to her and takes a swig from her flask. 

It all seems fairly normal but you know something is wrong – necromancy is not approved of amongst the Regals, and yet something here reeks of it. 

You can feel it coming up from the below deck, and you know it's crawling up the ladder before you see it. Sickly purple light emanates from the moving corpse of a once beautiful woman with a symmetrical face, an innocent expression, and piercing eyes, her body slowly, painfully making its way up. 

It is deathly quiet on the ship as it hoists itself up to the deck.

“Annabel…?” you hear Jolee whisper before the spell is broken and all hell breaks loose amongst the crew, screaming and shouting and running; somebody trips over you––

Somebody trips over you! You wake up and swat at their feet.

There is a skirmish. Three members of the Regals are picking and prodding at your friend. 

“Take your disgusting, unnatural proclivities somewhere else! Here we don’t tolerate necromancy!” the tall one spits out.

 "Wait, we can't say that out loud, you remember! We don't tolerate spells that could endanger the magical aura of the city!" says the fat one.

“Oh, yeah. That then! We don't tolerate that!”

“It’s just a dice! I got it - I didn't know - What do you mean necromancy??” your poor friend seems genuinely confused. You thought that the necromantic origin of the dice was pretty obvious, but people can be very very stupid.

“Are you trying to get beaten up? Because we will gladly smash you to pulp…” – the fat one again. The last one just squints threateningly.

You can tell he is telling the truth because they have your friend surrounded, and it doesnt actually look like they have any plans on letting him go. His eyes dart to yours.

Ah damn… is the man your friend? Will you help him?