When the meeting wraps up, the group is escorted out of the Regent's office, and a new functionary greets them. The woman is human, with dark hair and blue eyes. Her armor is light leather armor with an odd sheen to it, apparently not cow hide, perhaps eel skin. She has a sword on her hip, and a walking staff in her hand. "Greetings, I am Proctor Riva Kilgore. You may call me Riva, Balshan, Proctor, or any combination thereof, as your cultural or personal preferences dictate." She waves the group toward the elevator again. "It is my duty to show you to the Red Parrot, to Segren's, and to show you places you may find convenient. I shall also be your contact until such time as you leave, and you may find me here at the City Council Building during the day during the week, or in either the Feathered Eel or at the Kilgore Compound at other times."
Once at the street level again, she begins leading the group to the north. "The Red Parrot is near the docks, but not so near that you need deal with drunk sailors, unless you bring your own. Segren's is to the east, and the Feathered Eel and Kilgor compound are to the north, in the Mercenaries Quarter." As she leads the group north, the city changes, with more weapons and armor shops popping up, and fewer clothing and dry goods stores. Walled in compounds, generated by building walls between stone buildings, begin to dominate. "The Mercenaries Quarter is where Mercenary companies headquarter and train when not on active work. Each company is required to contribute 1 in 10 of it's active hands to the City Watch as part of their taxes to the city. To the north, if you look at the red tower, you will see the Kilgore College, one of the two Mercenary Training Colleges in the city. To the north west, if you look at the twin gray towers, you will see the Org'al'man College, the other Mercenary Training College. Both train excellent mercenaries. Org'al'man has the better magic and calvary curriculum, while Kilgore has the better scout and heavy armor curriculum."
She leads them to the red tower, and stops two blocks away from the heavy gate that leads to a heavily fortified castle compound inside the city proper that is the Kilgore College. A smaller but no less formidable compound stands to the east on the street, with a crest on it that has an eagle grasping two arrows. "The Kilgore Compound." She waves at the compound on the east side of the street. Then to the west side, there is an armor shop, a weapons store, and a large tavern with a bright yellow eel in shimmery blue water with truly eye searing purple feathers growing from it's fanged head. "The Feathered Eel."
Then she leads the group off to the east. "The East is the Merchant's Quarter, Segren's is in the center of the quarter, next to the Trade Square." Here there are shops on every corner and every foot in between. Street carts are set up with food, jewelry, carvings, every knick knack you could possibly want. Eventually she leads the group into a square that's nearly a mile diagonal, filled with carts, tents, blankets, and hundreds of heavily haggling buyers and sellers. On the northern edge of the square is a squat, rather ugly, 3 story building with entrances every 50 ft long it's 300 foot length. "Segren's Tradepost. Most people use it as a bank. You will need to relinquish your weapons to enter, as a warning."
The tour continues south, back towards the docks. Finally a very attractive 3 story building with balcony's along each side and an actual view of the ocean over the warehouses comes into view. At each corner post, a bright red stuffed parrot is encased in glass and hanging from the corner post. "The Red Parrot Inn. You have the entire top floor."
"For the education of my junior partner," Connor asked the Regent, with a sideways glance at Volita next to him, "could you tell us what you think your city needs most in the way of trade, before we start our tour of Massiaran? Mercenaries deal in more than weapons and armor, and trade more than gold and gems to eat."
"Cloth." The regent responds with no hesitation. "Glass, metal and ore we have access to in abundance. Food we have from the sea, although some variety is always valuable, but we have no cotton, no silk, no sheep. So clothing is always at a premium. Weapons we have in abundance, with the ranges nearby. Same with armor. All these idiot merchants come rolling in with weapons for sale because there's mercenaries here."
"Is there no grass? Why are no livestock raised for this? Interesting. So my meat choices are going to be from the sea then while here. Oh well. Fish of the day it is."
He continues bouncing around behind whistling and listening.
Flann follows quietly, for the most part, but when the proctor begins describing her house, something occurs to him, and he hasn't the gracces to keep it to himself. "The Regent appointed a Proctor of one of the two existing Colleges to attend us. Are you privileged or punished, Proctor Riva Kilgore? -and what can we expect from- would it be a fair assessment to call them your rivals? Mother always says a loose hand on reins beats a firm one on a leash." He watches the proctor for a reaction.
The woman pauses, and after a moment, answers. "It is a tradition in my family that the oldest child of the current clan head is always one of the Kilgore Tithes to the city. It proves we are committed to the defense of the city. It has nothing to do with privilege or punishment, it has to do with Duty."
Always more interested in people than places, Flann digs heedlessly onward. "You did introduce yourself as 'Proctor Riva Kilgore' so surely, whether it is your intention or not, some loyalty is implied. It's the kind of thing folks in charge pay attention to, like these coins." He pulls a coin from his purse and shows its face. "A lot of coin passes through Celestrata coffers, much of it through the hands of my mother's accountant, but she'll never give me anything other than Celestrata Crowns. Not my choice, but it says something to people who are looking. -so, you're here to ensure the Regent's access to our nation's goods, and you, for good or ill, are from Kilgore. So, should we be wary of Org'al'man College? Should you? I'm the ship's medic, by the way. Flann Swallowtail." It sounds very much like he should be offering a hand to shake, but he's not.
The woman shakes her head. "You do not understand, you are a merchant. You believe things can be bought with gold. Org'al'man College and Kilgore are rivals, but not enemies. It is not like Merchants, who try to cut each other's throats to make gold. We are warriors, we fight because we are paid to, but it is not out of greed, it is because it is who and what we are. I have fought wars with those of Org'al'man, I have fought wars against those of Org'al'man. I will do so again. The man I fought to kill last year will be the man who watches my back and guards me from death next year. This is Massiarin, this is our home. We do not shyte in our own living room. We do not stab our brothers in the back over gold. The Regent is the reason we have a home. Others shun mercenaries, until they need them. They spit on us, until they pay us to bleed and die for them, then when they no longer need us, they spit on us again. I do this job because it is my Duty. If the Regent thinks your mercenaries are what is needed to slay a dragon, then it is my duty to ensure that comes to pass. If it was instead my duty to slaughter you, I would do so instead. It has nothing to do with Gold, Gold is only useful as it enables one to ones Duty."
Connor took his and his companions' leave of the Regent, promising to return to retrieve any penned letters of trade to give to the Clan elders of Atalanta.
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"The Clans of Atalantia understand duty, as well as honor." Connor murmured, remembering a stubborn Clan-sister by the name of Jalice. "I wish mine own would understand some would rather count coin, and craft, than carry sword and shield and naught much else."
At Segren's Tradepost, Connor told his companions, "Volita, I'll have you receive the trade for the lumber from Poja Vensansa, and see what we can sell back on the floating islands . If we're going straight home, we can travel heavy. I'd prefer a profit, but ask about that light ballasta from the Regent we can mount on the aft poop deck. Something with a much longer range than Grimjowl's cannons. Or to tweak a dragon's nose before he breathes on us."
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At the Red Parrot Connor paused outside. "Adran, Flann," he said, "I'll give you two first dibs on the taverns. Just come back sober enough to tell the crew which ones have the best ale and food! As for me, I want to go to Masterson and Sons, and see their drydock, Proctor Riva."
"Don't have to tell me twice to go drink. Meet later back on the ship."
Adran heads off to one of the taverns.
~And any scuttlebutt about the Doomwhale hunt or local problems.~ Connor sent through Flann's network before Adran got out of range.
Adran walks out of the Red Parrot, walks off in a random direction, and within half a block turns into a stone two story tavern. There are a mixture of races in the tavern, about half human, but also elves, dwarves, a couple of halflings, a trio of orcs, and two cheetah fashtali in the back. Behind the bar is a heavy bodied orc with a pair of well maintained tusks. The orc looks up as Adran enters, and huffs. "Well now I done seen everything, someone bred a halfling to a harpie." It huffs, and guffaws at it's own joke.
The halflings bristle at first, but then see Adran, and begin to laugh. "I'll be dipped in orc shyte, I'd have paid to see that courtship." The female halfling says, causing a racous round of laughs in the room. Several more catcalls, questioning if it was a harpie or if some griffen rider got lonely is added as well.
Flann gives Connor a confused look, then shrugs and walks off, taking the first turn he comes to, and dropping out of sight. He'll wander around watching for furtive glances and suspicious characters. He doesn't trust these people, and certainly won't be touching their food. Relevant or not, he wants to know what's going on where no one is looking, and who, other than the Regent, is interested in the crew of winged foreigners. Sometimes he'll use his cloak to cover his wings, sometimes he'll just be flying above the natural eye-line, but he utilizes a century's experience sneaking cookies from the pantry to avoid notice.
Kilgore nods, and motions Connor to follow. "Follow me, it's our next stop." The 'next stop' is actually nearly to the city wall east of the port, the sea wall is built out into the ocean, and it appears the docks are there, part of the sea wall.
Masterson and Sons shipyards are large, several ship bays are big enough to hold the Elephant. Riva quickly gets an audience with a red-haired young woman with a big wrench and grease on her fingers and face. She looks so much like a typical ship fitter back home that the Atalantian's can almost see the airships behind her as she stands there. "Huh, so you're the charity case huh? Be damned if I'm sure I'll work on your ship. Only reason I am is it's a flying ship, so I figure that's worth saying you repaired one. Pop and Orvil can rot in 'de damn jail for all I give a flying fig." She spits on the dock next to Connor's feet. "You'll be in berth three, that's the third one down." She points to it, speaking slowly in an obvious attempt to insult Connor. "Anything I should know about your fancy ship? Ain't got no undead on it or nuthin? I charge hazard pay if I gotta deal with stuff that tries to eat me, blow me up, drown me, or rape me." She states flatly, still hefting her wrench.
Adran laughs off the jokes at his expense with everyone else.
"Yeah but I can fly."
He smiles as he gives a few flaps, half jumping, half flying he lands over on a bar stool.
"Ale please. What's good to eat?"
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The orc snorts. "Halfling.. on the wing."
A round of laughter goes around, even the other halflings joining in.
A human barmaid hits the orc on the back of the head with a dishrag and then promptly ducks a very slow and obvious back hand from the orc. "Don't you mind Gort, deary. He jes likes to put on a show as the fierce orc in the room. Don't rile him up for real tho, now, he'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it." The Orc huffs, but there's a murmmer of agreement from the crowd, as well as some excitement, as if watching Gort rip arms off people is a semi-regular entertainment in the pub. "We got Fish, Fish and Fish, Fish Fish and Fish, Fish Fish Seaweed and Fish, Fish Fish Fish and Bread, Fish Fish Fish Seaweed and Bread, or sauteed mushrooms with a garlic sauce and braised lamb."
The bar suddenly lets out a somewhat ragged and slurred "But we're all out of mushrooms and lamb!"
Charm, rather than blunt conversation, was needed here, the young Humavian thought to himself.
"Rather than charity, Shipwright Rinalda, think of it as an opportunity to show another city your expertise and craftsmanship. Connor of McIntyre from Atalanta of Atalantius, captain of said merchant airship." Connor suggested, introducing himself. "As soon as the lumber from up North is unloaded, we'll be handing the Vagabond Elephant over to you and your shipwrights. You'll not only be saving your father's and brother's lives with this job, but a name change from 'Masterson and Sons' to 'Masterson and Daughter' might be in order. With your reputation spreading to a faraway land."
"As for the manifest," Connor said, "my people hate magic, let alone undead" he shuddered at the words, "so be assured you won't find any onboard the Elephant!" Unconsciously unfolding one white-feathered wing along with his outstretched arm as he looked and pointed from Berth Three to the open seas past the wall, Connor offered "If you like, I can put you at the helm, and let you guide the airship into the berth." He faced the young Wingless again, his wings folding. "After all, it would be best for you to understand how the ship maneuvers, so you can grasp the nature of the repairs, correct?" Like a certain troublesome engine.
Flann quickly finds that with his wings out, he's got zero chance of stealthing around the city. If he puts his cloak on, he can move around apparently without using stealth, as in, nobody pays him the slightest mind. In fact, when he tries to stealth around, he begins to attract attention (from those who beat his stealth and wonder what he's up to, especially city guards).
Once he stops trying to sneak around, and hides his wings, nobody pays the slightest bit of attention to him, he's just a hump-backed halfling (or gnome, some races have trouble telling the difference).
After a few hours of gadding about, asking about the 'flying foreigners', Flann comes to the, perhaps depressing, realization that the majority of the people in the city couldn't care less about the flying visitors. With such a mix of races in the city, it appears that 'has wings' is just not that much of an excitement factor. There's some interest around the port by the sailors, but it's more about a flying ship and not flying crew. None of them seem all that interested in being crew on a flying ship (you need bloody wings to work it, else ye fall off and splat!) seems to be the consensus.
All in all, the city seems to be what it seems to be, a bunch of non-Atalantians all working their own lives. There does seem to be a 'non of my business' air to the city, which might have something to do with it. Flann gets the idea that locals don't like getting up in each others business and don't like others getting up into theirs, so as long as the crew isn't dropping flaming bombs on the city, nobody is likely to care one way or the other about them.
Adran smiles
"No worries from me. I have killed way bigger and stronger then Gort, but no one is paying me to kill so lets eat. Fried fish on some bread please."
He smiles even bigger leaning in. He then sits back a bit, beginning to whistle as he awaits his food and ale.
In many taverns, the public admission of being a paid killer would draw eyes. In a tavern in this city, it's apparently nothing special, and the barmaid nods and heads off into the back of tavern. She returns a few minutes later with some thick bread that's toasted lightly with some sort of white sauce with flecks in it smeared on it. Next to it is a pile of deboned fish. It looks roasted, not fried, however. It's got a coating of bread crumbs dabbed over it and blackened by the fire that roasted the meat. "Here you go hon, house special. Roasted Blue Fish and bread with Garber Fat spread."
Each is on a metal skewer, and quite spicy. The spread on the bread is thick, and has a mellow garlicky lightly fishy taste.
Adran took a gamble stating himself plainly but it was an educated one on the manner of place this seemed to be. He wasn't looking for trouble just some food, drink, and entertainment.
"Thanks lady. Why don't you have a drink with me? Tell me about this place."
"I gotta work sugar, if you wanna pick up girls, try the Pink Whale, three blocks up, after dark. They have knife throwing contests at night, and the ladies get their ale for half price, while the guys pay double." She laughs. "If you want to know about this place, it's a decent tavern. Food is fresh, and we actually clean the kitchen at least once a week, unlike most of the places around here. It'll be a lot busier when the fleet comes back in. Not like last year." She makes a motion with her hands, warding off evil.
A few of the regular make unhappy noises. "Elvie, don't bring up bad memories. At least wait until the fleet's back in. Not sure we could handle another harvest like that one." A human male missing 3 fingers from his right hand says, using his left to make a similar warding sign.
"Oh, harvest? What do you mean? What can you grow here? Did thy harvest people? Is that it. What is this fleet? When do they come. I may be her a bit. Just need to know the lay of the land so I can stay low." He smiles as he cracks a short joke on himself.
"What is that hand sign. Some local voodoo?"
Now curious he starts barraging her and the ones sitting close with these questions.
Flann drags himself back to the Red Parrot Inn, and finds a waist-high surface (likely a bench) to drop himself onto face first. "Ugh. This place is so boring." The pile of halfling, rumpled butterfly wings and cloak announces this loudly to the wooden surface where he's trying to bury his ennui. "How do you have an entire city of mercenaries, and no crime? -and more to the point why?"
The human with the missing fingers holds up his mangled hand. "Woah young feller, you're full 'o piss and vinegar ain't ye. Guess this is ye're furst time in the city. So, I'll give ye me two copper worth."
The barmaid snorts. "He's overcharging you by a silver." A round of laughs.
The human chuckles. "Prolly. So, de city, she make her money two ways. First way be Mercenaries. They go off, fight wars somewhere else, and then come back and spend dey gold. De other way, is de Doomwhale Harvest. A single Doomwhale o' decent size, say a hunnert feet from snout to tail, can make more than 10 mercenary companies in a year. De ambergris, de horn, de bones, de meat, de fat, de entrails, all o' dem is useful as hell. De fleet harvests doomwhales, and de doomwhales harvest people. Last year, de doomwhales harvested damn near the whole fleet." A lot of muttering and making of the signs. He oddly doesn't answer the question about the sign, perhaps it's taboo?
The innkeeper takes his pipe out and laughs as Flann complains. "Well, now lad. You answered yourself. We're a damn site less likely to have crime around her than most cities. Mercenaries gotta live by rules, and the whole damn town is either a mercenary, raised by a mercenary, married to a mercenary, or depends on them to make a living. And the watch is all mercenaries, and unlike most towns, they don't have to pay the guards, and we got more guards than we need, so it's dangerous to be a criminal around here. 'Specially since every one of the guards is a trained killer." He runs his pipe stem along his throat and makes a 'gack' sound. "Don't get me wrong, there's crime around here, but if you're looking to start thieving, I gotta warn you that they chop off body parts for doin' it. Wouldn't be surprised if they plucked those bonny wings off and mounted them in the watch office if they caught you stealin'."
"Doomwhale... Sounds neat. Never seen anything that big. So when do they hunt, I will be here a couple months while our ship is repaired. Seeing such a thing would be pretty interesting."
He smiles as he continues to eat.
The mechanic starts to answer, and then the overwhelmed Volita spouts off about a mercenary career, and the mechanic blinks, obviously not expecting the comment. "Well, lady, if you want to be a mercenary, there's a couple of colleges you can pay to learn at. I reckon they might like a winged scout or five." She tells Volita, then turns back to Connor. "No thank you, I got no experience helming your flying ship, and I ain't gonna be on the hook for doing more damage to it. I'll take a ride on it, for sure, to make sure you settle it in right. I'll also charge for any damage to my drydock, so make sure your helmsman knows what he's doing." She spits again, and then settles the wrench into a loop on her belt, next to a solid looking hammer and a chisel. "Well then, let's get on to this ship 'o yours. And as to the name of the shipyard, I got a sign maker makin' me a new sign that says Rinalda Masterson Shipyard already. Even got one of them fancy lawyers to work out the paperwork so's I own what the Regent didn't lay claim to." She grins. "Since the Regent is taking his repayment out in work, and your ship counts towards it, I hope your ship is damn near totaled."
"They out huntin' now lad. You picked a good time to repair your ship, lots of ship-hands and nothin' laid up right now. If you're here for a month, you'll see a doomwhale if they bring one in." There's a rumble of agreement, a lot of it more prayerful than anything else.
Flann sits up, letting his cloak slide down his face. "I don't want to do the crime, I just want to track it down, suss it out," he mimes taking aim down the barrel of a rifle, "get it in my sights, and bang! Be a hero." He pulls down his cloak and combs his hair back behind his ears. "Not much work for a watchmaker to do on a well-oiled piece." His tone suggests this was a quote.
The innkeeper laughs. "Oh, I see. Well, yes, there's likely not much more than a bit of smuggling going on, especially right now. Once the fleet comes back in, and we've got a passel of foreigners running around being idiots and drunk, there'll be a good bit of crime going on. Lot of people come for our fleets and leave their hands behind to remember us." He chuckles. "Hmm, might be some work around here for a watch maker, if you are one. If not, what else do you do? Might be able to help you with some work while you're in dry dock. It's a bit slow now, but will heat up when the fleet starts rolling back in."
"Great, so what is the best way for a guys like myself to spend his time while here? Anything else interesting going on?"
"...I hope your ship is damn near totaled."
"And I hope your expert estimation of the damage incurred concludes that the Elephant was merely scratched." Connor countered, pained.
Connor looked at the docks, then back at Volita and the Wingless owner. "Flying would be faster, but I guess we'll walk." he sighed, obviously wanting to stretch his wings. "Tell me, Shipwright Rinalda," Connor asked, "how much of my crew can remain onboard during the repairs? I'm not looking forward to doling out free inn rooms in addition to pay. But you don't want to see a bunch of Atalantians hanging about in the rigging while you work."
The woman shakes her head and puts a hand on her wrench again. "Not a gods be damned one of them. I'm not putting up with sailors, winged or not, getting in my way or my crew's way. Especially since they'll ask stupid questions, ask for special modifications you won't want to pay for, try to bribe my people to make them smuggling holes, and a dozen other headaches I don't want to deal with. If you don't want to pay for rooms, fire the lot of them and recruit a new crew. Or go camp out in the desert with the scorpions and spiders." She says, following along with Connor and Volita toward where the ship is, about an hour walk. Along the way, she delivers a pithy comment on the city, various people she happens to spot, taverns and their food and drink quality, and generally all the typical gossip on a city that a local who doesn't care what a foreigner thinks of the city drops.
Once she gets to the ship, she whistles. "Man, you did a number on her, didn't you?" The damaged engine, still chugging on neutral to keep the ship from actually sinking low enough for the holes in the hull to be below water, picks that moment to make another unhappy rumble and belch black smoke again. She shakes her head. "That sounds expensive. That a steam engine? Ain't seen many of those, but I have worked on a couple. There's a ship that makes the off-season runs up to the Fashtali regions that uses them to move against the winds. Had to rebuild one of them a few years ago, was a messy job, all that coal dust and char." She makes a face. "Well, get your ship up and we'll go get her settled in. It'll take me a few days to get an estimate of what all needs fixing. If any of your primaries are crabbed up, that'll require us tearing it half apart to replace them, and then rebuild it. And from the holes you have in it, I wouldn't be surprised."
"I'm a talented healer," Flann admits forlornly. "My passion, however, is in guns. Healing just comes more easily to me. I am no legendary shot to be honest.
In fact, on my last trip out, I saw an elfavian archer hit a target I could hardly see through unkind winds from a boat which was pitching and yawing like a wet cat... I could never do that. -but I can all but raise the dead with my eyes closed, and can ease the pain of childbirth--both fairly lucrative trades--so I suppose I shouldn't feel so put out."
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"So," Volita starts, taking out her notes. "With our greater mobility, what would you say is the greater emphasis in the local market? And would you want anything from where we are going to?
And do know anything about, mmmmmmm, the Feld Ranges? I'm trying to set up an easy-to-use route, and it looks like there's a fair margin to be made shipping wood to the Feld Ranges, but then what? Do you know what they export? Rumor has it they do gem work, but they don't like to give it up. But would they trade it out for wood?
And then what does Basra usually want? We tried to talk to them, but conversation was...strained. But I can't set up a circular route if we don't have a liquid export for the point of origination.
And then, assuming we got gems, where would we go to?
And do you know about Elishtru Kaava? We know they do trade at Kastri, but we've no idea what.
And is Ograga Magra as bad as they say? I'd imagine that glass work would be well received wherever we go, but I've been hesitant to go there."
She pauses, her eager pen ready.
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Rinalda laughs. "Man, you should hire a local expert, you know? Find a ship after the doomwhale hunts that got sunk, but the Purse survived, and hire them up. Anyway, let me see.."
"Feld Ranges, mostly dwarves. They do a lot of trading, but not by ship. No ports. They only trade in their specified trade towns, so if you want to trade with them, you're going to have to find a place to land your ship and then go by land for awhile. You might be able to find a lake to land on in Iska, then go overland. They do a lot of trading with the Dwarves. Hell, Iska could probably build you a new flying ship, or build a dock you can land in without water. I heard from an engineer that was there that they built a transport between their cities. Damn thing runs on a big circular road they built 50 ft above ground, called it a train, cause they trained it to go around in circles. Runs day and night. Those damn gnomes are always tinkering with something." She ticks off the options. "Now, if you don't mind dealing with people that might cook you if they don't like your deals, the Kord Ranges have a port, called Janai, over near Kastri. Anyway, Feld Dwarves don't use a lot of wood, and they trade for timber with the giants when they need it. Glass, on the other hand, they never get enough of. They also like exotic metals. You might get some trade for exotic woods, but I wouldn't bet my wallet on it. We trade them food more than anything else, and things like pearls, shells, stuff they can't get from the ground or the giants. Ivory."
"The cats are finicky, surprise surprise. Then again, our Sleeva are as well. But they're easy, really. Metal, glass, and good stout cloth. They can't grow cotton, can't mine metal, and don't have any sand for glass, so that stuff always sells well to them."
"Sorry, never heard much about the wild elves, other than what happens to you if you break a local tradition. Short answer, Bad Things."
"Ograga Magra is worse than you heard, and not nearly as bad." She laughs. "I know, don't make any sense, right? Well, whatever you heard about it, the wilderness is worse. Roving bands of barbarian orcs who like to cook you alive for food. And that's the least of it. Stick to the ports, Uja, Tuhta, and you'll be fine as long as you don't go down any dark alleys with the wrong Orc. The city orcs are actually pretty refined and urbane. Not bad with a wrench either, whether it's fixing clockwork or beating some idiot upside the head. You can tell the difference by the tattoo's. If the tattoo's are mostly scars, you're dealing with a barbarian, and you should have lots and lots of weapons on display. If the tattoo's are finely detailed, with no scars, you're dealing with a City Orc, and you just need to count your fingers after shaking hands. The more ornate and spread out the tattoo's are, the more powerful and rich the orc is."
"I'm a talented healer," Flann admits forlornly. "My passion, however, is in guns. Healing just comes more easily to me. I am no legendary shot to be honest.
In fact, on my last trip out, I saw an elfavian archer hit a target I could hardly see through unkind winds from a boat which was pitching and yawing like a wet cat... I could never do that. -but I can all but raise the dead with my eyes closed, and can ease the pain of childbirth--both fairly lucrative trades--so I suppose I shouldn't feel so put out."
"Not sure what a gun is my boy, but a healer is a fine thing. You can get a good wife and life like that boy. Or a good husband, if your tastes go that way." He laughs and takes a puff on his pipe. "If you're really looking for a weapon, you should try the Mercenary Quarter, most of the exotic weapon shops are up that way. Or Iska, those gnomes are always coming up with odd things."
"Great, so what is the best way for a guys like myself to spend his time while here? Anything else interesting going on?"
"Depends now, on what your interest are. There's whore houses near the docks and over in the Merchant's quarter. There's fishing, if you're more inclined to that. There's work as caravan guards, if you're looking to be paid. If you just want to spend some time doing interesting stuff, there's a couple of gambling houses if you got money. If you don't, don't go in them. There's usually a pick up game or two of Dunk the Dwarf Head over in the southern part of the residential quarter, but you'd have to not fly or use your wings. You could go earn gold doing bounties, killin' things that need killin'. There's a dozen temples outside the town if you're a religious type. Or if you want gold, they're always mounting attacks against each other."
At mention of finding a spouse, Flann works his tongue in his mouth like he's trying to get rid of a bad taste, but when the innkeeper turns the conversation to weapons, he perks up. "Gnomes... Where is Iska? Is that a person, or a place?"
If there are directions given, he'll follow them, dropping a gold coin on the table as he leaves.
"Iska? That's a country boy. About oh, 3 or 4 weeks ride from here, just about straight north. Bunch of damn gnomes." He makes it sound like 'rat infested'. "If you want to look at some really exotic weapons, you can go to Segren's in the Merchant Quarter. They've got some really exotic stuff. You either gotta show you got enough gold to buy, or pay a 'museum' fee of 25 gold." He puffs on the pipe for a moment. "Gotta say, didn't think it would be worth 25 gold, but I was wrong, they got some stuff you ain't never seen. All of it for sell if you got the coin for it. Don't try to steal nothin' though. They got top notch security, and they'll dump you in some hell dimension for a few centuries until they find a use for ya."
"Do a lot of people steal things? Two guards said something on my way here, and I just don't understand why they would bring it up... Anyway, I've probably got enough if the browsing fee is only 25 gold... I might have to look through my things if that's okay- This is where our stuff was put, right?"
The man shrugs. "Petty crime is fairly common, urchins stealing bread, poor stealing food or small items to pawn. As long as it doesn't get out of hand, people usually ignore it. Major crime isn't as common, mainly due to losing your hand on a first offense, and your legs on the second, and your head on the third. Usually it's some idiot from out of town who decides that they can steal anything they want 'cause they can leave town. So the guards tend to drill it into ship crews and foreigners that stealing is a Bad Idea." He points to the stairs with the pipe. "Yep, your stuff is all upstairs. No idea whose is whose though, you'll have to dig through it. I put it all in the common room on the third floor in a pile. You can grab it and pick a room. I'd leave the southwest corner for your Captain and his doxy, were I you. The northeast corner is nice, and has a semi-decent view of the ocean."
"Thank you friend for the information." He takes a few minutes to finish his meal before heading back and reporting in to the boss.