At a perfumed arcade known as the Emporium, Governor-Mayor Lanod Neff rubs shoulders with common laborers awaiting an appointment in the Veiled Corridor. In an adjoining antechamber, snakes and exotic dancers gyre to a sonorous weave of cymbals and seductive pipes. A floor below, a gaggle of grasping miners presses against the windowed door of a darkened cell, impatient for a glimpse of a two-headed calf.
Out in the street, a gang of rowdies screams obscenities at a crumpled halfling, kicking it as if scrambling for a ball. Their drunken laughter echoes off shuttered windows and bolted doors.
In a tower-flanked fortress across the shadowy square, filthy men with nothing to lose shout hymns to Erastil, clutching to their idealism and principles like cornered animals. Their wild-eyed chief minister smiles as he draws a cat-o-nine-tails across his bare back, awash in their adulation and the spirit of his god.
But it’s just another night in Diamond Lake.
Diamond Lake, the bottom of the proverbial barrel. A lowly, almost pathetic village on the verge of collapse, save for a handful of people that have found themselves at the top of the food chain. Be it through extortion, manipulation, or even legitimate means, these few find themselves with a moderate living and decent life. The rest are left to their own devices. Thugs, criminals, homeless, destitute, exiles, and more make up the majority of the populace in the village. However, even those with meager means can find their way in Diamond Lake.
A man strolls down Front Street, a small deer slumped accross his shoulders. His back is covered in a reddish fur, similar to that of a dog or a wolf. He approaches the entrance to a small building where a tall woman stands guard. She stands awkwardly, doing her best to keep her weight distributed evenly between her legs, as one of them is significantly thinner than the other. She gives him a small nod as she lets him in.
Inside there are a multitude of figures. A large amount of them are covered in dust, dirt and grime, while the rest don't appear to be much cleaner. At the far end of the room a line has formed, ready to be served that day's meal. A young woman wearing the symbol of the Dawnflower assists a blue-haired gnome in serving all the patrons.
The gnome hops over to the man with fresh game and leads him to the kitchen, thanking him for his assistance. The woman blesses the newest pot of soup and begins to serve the next person in line. A thin but athletic man moves up and accepts his portion and makes his way over to the nearest open seat, doing his best to keep from spilling his food. He takes seat next to an elf rigurously studying a book that has seen some years. Notes, scribblings, and markings throughout give away that this is something that has been studied before.
The gnome returns from the kitchen and goes around, striking conversation with everyone. He is a cheery man, seemingly able to make even the most reserved to talk with him. Little did he know that his friendliness was about to set in motion events unimaginable. The world would soon be shaken and it was all thanks to him. He asked his guard to come inside and have a bowl for lunch. She made her way in and sat to eat, along with all the others.
Maybe the red "fur" needs a wash, maybe the warm fatty smell reeking off his body could do with a river or lake. But it almost tastes of Shoanti. The young man has narrow scars over his shoulders and back, many little whip marks that show a certain amount of torture. Around his neck sways the necklace of animal teeth to ward off the evil spirits of the dark. Around his wrist is a similar leathery band of animal gut, to provide healing and health so that any wounds do not rot.
Feeding tshamek is good to see such meat. But I count a line long as a spear throw. They dig in the dark holes for metals, but not now. I would not put a dog in the holes, make him dig, but they act so unhappy. Can they not see the juices flowing like the old-doe-who-never-has-young that flew across the grass until it fell? The best meal I can get, much more than the little red beetles and grey worms no one bites. I gave thanks to the Wolf Spirit, Ulfak, my heart sire and he provided. The worm has turned and life will be good if I am brave. It is a new moon and this is a good sign. Now if the skywing crosses over my head I will know.
The novice shaman helps by piling the separate bag of innards and guts in one corner for the cook. He licks his fingers clean of blood before joining the back of the queue. Unfortunately his lower jaw is too wide, leaving the odd spot of red on a tusk.
Eventually Ulfak sits next to the elf with the book. He does not understand the male but they can sit and eat without argument. Also the elf smells of woods and that is better than here.
After a couple of minutes, the shaman speaks, "meat is doe past bearing young. Good kill."
Another day, another drop in the sh*tter we call life, Derrick thought as he made his way to the soup kitchen. And another day in this craphole just makes it that much worse. I swear, if Varisia has a cock, it's Korvosa, and if it's got an arse, it's Diamond Lake.
The youth stood in line and glanced around at the other patrons of the glorified poorhouse. Not a silver among them, I'd wager, he thought, if I had anything to bet. That's another problem with this place--everyone's as poor as I am, and anyone who isn't is too high up to risk marking. Korvosa was the pits, sure, but at least there was work to be had. This place is just... eugh. Words failed Derrick Tramsen's opinion of Diamond Lake and its inhabitants.
* * * * *
Food? Derrick thinks, barely hiding his scowl behind the facade of emotionless distance that he generally wears in town. They call it soup, but I don't see much of anything except water... The fact that this fare is at least as good as what he ate in Old Korvosa doesn't matter; to Derrick Tramsen, everything in Diamond Lake is worse than his old life. Only thing keeping me here is the fact that I care about my neck.
The young thief sits down next to an elf, though he barely notices the other man. Lifting the wooden spoon, he lifts a small portion of his soup to his mouth and swishes it for a moment before swallowing. Swill, he decides, but hunger overrules disgust, and as the saying went, Choosing to wait for a better mark is choosing to starve.
Derrick's attention is drawn up for a moment when the large man sits down on the other side of the elf, and his gaze falls on the book the elf is studying. Calistria's skanky middle, he's taken a lot of notes. Derrick goes on eating, but he glances to the side very few seconds, wondering about the writing.
The thief's attention is drawn again a minute or two later when the man speaks. Derrick looks over at him across the elf's section of the table, his head cocked to the side. "An old deer? That's what we're eating?" Derrick's voice is still that of a young man, neither a growl nor very deep, a voice he wishes were more threatening. Deer's better than most of what I got back in O.K., he admits to himself. Still, best not to let the locals know that... "Meat's meat, I guess," Derrick says, trying to keep up his gruff exterior.
His curiosity gets the best of him, though, and now that he's spoken once, Derrick finds no great harm in doing it again. "What ya reading there?" he asks the elf, gesturing at the book with his spoon. "You're so interested, must be a 'love' story, eh?"
The woman tucks a strand of her blonde unruly hair behind her ear, and wipes a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Glancing over the queue in front of her, she notices a lot of familiar faces. She lets out an inaudible sigh. People just like myself, down on their luck. I can't help but wonder if coming here wasn't just another mistake. Filling the next bowl and giving it to a haggard looking fellow, she sees his eyes light up as he accepts the sustenance, and she smiles. Still, at least I'm doing some good here, so it's not a total waste. The hot steam rising from the pot of soup wafts in her face, and she wipes her brow again.
Her stomach grumbles in protest as she serves the last few people in the queue, so she takes one of the earthen bowls and fills it for herself. Looking over the bustling crowd, the last few spare seats are at a table where the local trapper is seated besides two other men she vaguely recognizes. Striding over, navigating between the numerous tables, she greets them with a smile, and takes up one of the empty chairs.
Pulling on a leather thong hanging from her neck, she reveals a gleaming symbol that was hidden beneath her clothes. The symbol depicts a winged female figure, her arms outstretched and her raised head surrounded by a fiery halo. She murmurs a few words as she fingers the symbol before she drops it back underneath her clothing, and then hunches over to start her meal. Ignoring the other people, she still perks up her ears, listening in on their conversation with mild interest.
Derrick looks over as the woman sits at the table, and he blinks, recognizing her as the one who doled out the soup. He goes back to eating and glancing at the elf's book, but he also notices the woman pull out the symbol and murmur. Great, he thinks, and here I was thinking she was kinda cute. A fanatic, that's just who I need coming over and sitting by me... As long as she keeps her holy talk to herself, we'll be fine.
Never one to have a dirty mouth, Ulfak gets out a small stick and starts picking at his incisors. He claims the last bits of venison and his fangs begin to gleam in the sunlight.
Put of habit, he slowly considers all the others sat in view. Just to be sure that no one intends to spoil this feast.
The last deer I saw was at the burning ceremony of the old fire shaman, Eagred Scorak, of the Sun Clan. That was a fine meal with the fat running down our chins. Only three lyrune ago, and it must have fed me for a week.
The young shaman smiles to no one in particular. He listens to the sun prayers and conversations around but he is more interested in his own thoughts.
Some could say that the day was shaping up to be a pleasant one, no one had tried to steal another's meal or the meager contents of their pockets nor had any fights broken out over line-cutting. Cindersnake, on the other hand, found it completely dull and lifeless so far. She hadn't once got to slug a tshamek in the jaw or plunge a hot-head into the water barrel headfirst. What a shame.
Her bad leg twinges painfully in its normal manner, a constant reminder not to stand still for too long or risk a cramp. She paces in a small circle to relieve the strain as the young shaman came walking up with a small doe strung across his shoulders. He has nice broad shoulders and at least he can hunt unlike the majority of these tshamek. Those tusks though, he's got the orc blood flowing in his veins. Pfft, orcs make fine enemies but they are good for little else. She gives Ulfak a nod in recognition as he carries his kill into the kitchen.
The aroma of fresh vension wafting from inside is enough to make Cindersnake's mouth water with longing for the watery concoction of root vegetables the tshamek call a soup. It had been a few days since last her taste buds had feasted upon fresh caught game. By the time her stomach builds to an audibule rumble of hunger, the line is mostly through and slurping upon their bowls of soup. The Shoanti woman glances once more outside the building to see if anyone is loitering or plotting mischief before she hurries inside to grab a clean bowl and wooden spoon.
A bowlful of soup later, Cindersnake peers around the crowded room full of downtrodden tshamek devouring their meals. She spots one of the last few spots left open, across from her fellow Shoanti, the shaman who had brought in the chunks of meat floating like turtles in the watery liquid inside her bowl. Cindersnake sits down across from Ulfak, grunting at him in acknowledgement and only giving the elf and two other tshamek sitting by him a look then faint nod. She practically inhales the soup, chewing on the vension with some relish as she talks to Ulfak between mouthfuls, "Good meat, shaman. I was tired of the scrawny chickens and malnourished pigs they call livestock in this town. Now only if fire peppers grew near to liven up the rest of this sad meal, I might feel like I was back on the Storval."
"I will look for peppers next time. Peppers should grow on the higher slopes. There was a body, an old miner dead on the grass outside of town. Someone alone and diseased, he died in his sleep. They do not care here. This place and the dawnflower god are the only thing feeding some of them."
"He had nothing. Not even a knife or club. They had cut his coin pouch open. The spirit of a forked tongued snake is strong around here."
Derrick's instincts kick in before common sense as the hunter speaks of a dead man. "Ididn'tdoityou'vegotnothingonmeandbesidesthatisn'tmystyle" the youth blurts out quickly, before seeing the stares of those around him. "I mean... err..." Derrick drops his spoon and scowls. "Look, I said I didn't do it, huh? Close your jaws, you look like a bunch'a Calistrians ready to 'receive the white wine.'"
Good sense, Derrick, get a grip, he thinks, going back to his soup. If they didn't think you were a criminal already, ya sure blew that out of the water.
. Ulfak stares at Derrick long and hard, but not a word does he say. His yellowed eyes are slanted on close inspection.
Cindersnake gives the young man a long, hard stare before snorting outloud in a half-laugh, "Unless you tshamek have learned to harness your groins as weapons of disease and destruction, I think the shaman said the old one died of more natural causes than being chattered to death by a chittering squirrel. Calm yourself and enjoy the meal. The spirits might deem it your last, you never know." She shakes her head with a smirk at a private joke before spooning up another mouthful of that which passes for soup in her bowl.
Derrick frowns again at the words of the tribal woman. Great, not one, but two, probably three fanatics here. Doesn't matter if they're of different religions--they're still fools who believe some higher power will guide them, help them.
Valsaya looks up at the young Varisian, startled as he unexpectedly blurts out a string of apologetic words. She raises her eyebrows, "I don't think anyone holds you responsible, so be at ease. Judging by the fact we're all in here probably means we're all in the same boat," she says with a slight smile.
Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, she pushes the empty bowl away from her. "I'm Valsaya by the way, Valsaya Ortuso. What brings you folks out to this desolate town?"
Derrick glances at the woman again, and while she speaks easily enough and smiles, it doesn't assuage the young man's nervousness entirely. Even if they don't think I did this, even if they don't know what I have done, they could find out, and who knows what'll happen then. Keep it together, Derrick, for the sake of your life, keep it together.
The thief exhales and sets his spoon in the still half-full bowl. "Derrick," he says, in that damned youthful voice. "Came here because... well, it was here, I guess, and so was I. Needed somewhere to go, and Diamond Lake was there."
Cindersnake shares a brief look with Ulfak before turning her gaze on the blonde woman, sizing her up in a few moments then staring her straight in the eyes while proclaiming with a touch of pride and arrogance, "I am called Cindersnake, brave of the Sklar-Quah and warrior of the Shoanti, Valsaya of Ortuso. For why I find myself in this village of desolation, those reasons are yet unclear but I will say that you tshamek breed trouble like the Storval grows briarthorns."
"What ya reading there?" he asks the elf, gesturing at the book with his spoon. "You're so interested, must be a 'love' story, eh?"
The words filtered in through the tangled web of connections and questions in the elf's mind as he read and wrote and checked and thought, his long periods of stillness punctuated by frantic bursts of paper shuffling, page turning and muttering to himself.
Finally, the man's comment seeped through it all and the strange elf answered, responding awkwardly late but not seeming to notice that he'd done anything strange.
"Love story? Hmm. Yes. Yes! That makes sense. Hot first, then cold, then both at once. Like love. Thank you."
With an excited smile he made new notes and drew lines between subjects, expanding on whatever new theory he'd come up with.
"Well now! That's certainly exciting, isn't it?"
Finished with the toothstick, the young brave joins in the introductions afterwards, [b]"I am Little Dusk Wolf in my language. You may call me Ulfak and I am spirit warrior serving Great Wolf. My teacher was elder shaman, Lefokir of Moon Clan? You heard of him? No. I am here for myself to hunt and travel is to live. This place is home for now. Why you here Valsaya?"
The shoanti fingers one fang of the necklace most of all. It is a grey wolf incisor rubbed smooth amd much larger than most.
Valsaya frowns slightly to herself at the other woman's reply, but still asks with a friendly tone, "I've heard you use that word several times now, but what's a tshlamek?"
Giving a short sigh, she rests her elbow on the table and cups her chin in the palm of her hand. "As to why am I here? Well, that's a good question, and one that I've asked myself numerous times since I arrived here. Truth be told, this place is a little different from what I expected. Our jittery friend there probably said it best, I needed a place to go, and this place was one of the options."
Cindersnake drops the spoon into the empty bowl, only a few smudges of soup remain inside as she wipes her hands on her pants. The tall woman thinks for a moment while she grasps with the right words to answer Valsaya's question, "A tshamek is... a tshamek. It is the word for many things, all of them not of the Shoanti way. You are tshamek but you were born that way and know no better. Some tshamek can be taught not to be tshamek, some cannot."
The Shoanti woman nods her head at Ulfak's mentioning of his teacher, "The Sklar-Quah know of Lefokir of Lyrune-Quah. A wise man and skilled hunter, so says shaman Touches-the-Dawn." She turns back to the others, including the elf that seems lost in his world of letters and scribbles, "You tshamek would do well to listen to the words of a shaman. The spirits speak through their lips."
Derrick looks sideways at the elf next to him when the reader gives his outburst. "I don't think you understood what I... never mind." The thief rolls his eyes and spoons up a little more of the soup. Listening to the others' stories, he wonders... Am I the only one here running from something? Everyone else just sort of... came here? I doubt that.
Ulfak nods at the explanation of tshamek from Nitavesha. He waits for the others to finish then adds, "My words are young, not old and wise so I want you to speak again. Then I can learn what you mean Derrick."
He listens then finishes for the sake of Valsaya, "I am here thanks to the signs by day and night and they show that this place is important to me. I will look around until I find what it is that matters. To me."
The shaman looks about to see how everyone is doing again. How is the gnome doing?
"I am here thanks to the signs by day and night and they show that this place is important to me. I will look around until I find what it is that matters. To me."
"Really. Me too. Have any clues so far?" the elf nearby said, putting down his book for a moment, oblivious to the fact that he was probably interrupting a conversation he wasn't invited to.
"Yes, two clues. I found her, barren deer, this morning at first light. It was waiting to feed us. Deer spirit is a flighty one but no one can mistake this gift. Also there was the moon in the puddle when I came here last week. It was round and full, a good sign added to by no clouds passing or stars watching."
Ulfak points at the meat in Vedic's untouched soup to empathise his points.
"I wait the skywing singing on high to be sure, it is here somewhere."
Derrick looks at Ulfak with a questioning expression, but he waits until the hunter and the elf have both spoken. "What do you mean, speak again? I was just making a joke, nothing to miss." Just who have I fallen in with here?
Valsaya nods slowly at Nitavesha's explanation, "I think I understand what you mean. I've heard of the tribal culture of your people, but I've never actually spoken much to Shoanti who hold to their old traditions."
She then glances over to Ulfak, and raises one of her eyebrows ever so slightly. Her compadre there seems to speak in riddles though, she thinks to herself.
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As the introductions and misunderstandings progress, the gnome makes his way out of the kitchen, his hands now a lovely shade of rose. None of the locals seem to pay any mind to this sudden development. He rushes over to the front door and invites in a human man. This man is draped in a fine crimson robe, etched with various runes and strange symbols. He towers over the gnome, as most humans tend to do, placing him at about six feet of height. His beard is a third of this length— a coarse, dark brown beard that is tied together with fine silk threads as to keep it from becoming unmanageable. His eyes shows wisdom of many winters, but he appears not to be any years beyond thirty.
"Allustan, my friend," calls the gnome. His voice carried a volume unlike that of a typical gnome, heard even over the murmurs of conversation in the dining hall. "I'm glad to see you again. I've already had most of the preparations completed, but I was hoping you could review a few things. Come in and I'll tell you everything I have so far."
"Alright, then, Salomon." An amused look fills the man's face. "Have you picked any candidates yet?" he asks, moving over to a side room.
"Well, I have a few ideas, and that's what I what I was hoping to discuss with you. Oh, and please, just call me Sal..." His voice trails off as they enter an office.
After a beat, Sal steps out. "Has everyone gotten their food?" he yells out. The majority of the room gives an approving, if somewhat dissatisfied grunt. With a nod, Sal slip back into the office, closing the door behind him.
Derrick glances again at the door--the others may notice that he seems to twitch at most loud noises, and his eyes flicker toward any movement for a fraction of a moment before returning to whatever he was looking at--and then resumes eating, but he pays attention to the conversation between gnome and man. Weird robe, and weirder beard. Still, the youth figures the affairs of the locals here don't matter to him, so he just goes on with his soup.
Looking up at the red robed man, Valsaya can't help but feel he looks very out of place here. Now, I've seen a lot of people since my arrival here, but almost none of them dressed like -that-, and he certainly doesn't seem like he can't feed himself.
Valsaya gestures towards him as she asks Nitavesha, "Hey, you've worked here longer than me haven't you, you ever recall seeing that fellow in the dress?"
She lets her gaze drift over the room, but nothing seems out of the ordinary, and she begins gathering some of the already empty soup bowls from the people around the table.
Cindersnake watches the crimson robed man follow Salomon into the office with thinly veiled interest. As Valsaya tries to get her attention, the Shoanti turns her dark colored eyes back toward the blonde woman, "I have not worked here so long as to know every tshamek face that makes its way through this place but I confess that no, I do not recognize that robed tshamek. He appears to be one of your wise men from his facial hair and robes, is that not right?"
"Wearing dresses and not shaving for an extended period of time does not make you wise," Valsaya says with a wry smile, "but yes, he's not one of your kin is for sure."
After collecting a few of the empty bowls, she walks over to the counter to drop them off, peering at the door to Salomon's office, more than a little intrigued.
Now that the pleasantries are over, Ulfak asks the bookworm, "What you write in book Vedic?"
Noticing the food for the first time, the elf's brows raised. "Oh, food. Yes." listening to the conversations, he didn't speak much, instead efficiently filling his face.
Upon being directly address, he paused, not remembering if he had introduced himself, assuming someone must have done it for him while he was distracted. "Answers and the questions they raise. Most recently, I connected a reference to a Issirian love story about a frost giant chieftain's daughter to a melody referenced later who's notes swell between two keys and tempos best described as "hot" then "cool". The notes fit passages in the story, that may spell out then next key to the cypher just before the first locked passage."
He smiled as if what he said made perfect sense.
[b]"I am afraid I did not catch your name. Any of your names. It seems someone called a gathering while I was focused on other things."[/b}
Sauntering back over to the table with some chunks of bread, Valsaya asks, "I found some leftover bread, anyone want some?" She tears off a piece with her teeth, chewing industriously as she inspects the bread closely. "It's a bit stale, but it hasn't gone mouldy yet. They'll be tossed out tomorrow, so best to finish it now, right?"
Valsaya then notices she's been ignored, with everyone staring at the elf in confusion, who seems to be looking expectedly at the rest of the table. "Errr... what did I miss?"
"Our scholar friend here is babbling ona bout notes and keys and how some song has something to do with an old love story?" Derrick shakes his head, not understanding it. Can't believe he still doesn't get what I meant...
The young man does take a piece of the bread, though, and tears off a small chunk, which he chews thoughtfully. Bread's bread, no matter who made it, and I've had plenty staler bread in my time... But I still swear this sh*t tastes worse than what we had back in OK.
A few minutes pass and Allustan and Sal step out of the office.
"—assuming it all works out well enough. Thank you, my friend. Have a wondrous day."
Allustan kneels down and gives Sal a warm hug before leaving.
"Okay, folks. You've had your fill. Just this once, I'm going to ask everyone to please leave early," Sal yells out, motioning to the door. "I need everyone out as I have a very important business matter to attend to. Please shuffle and do so quickly. Gods know your legs are long enough to do it in a timely manner," he chuckles.
As everyone is filing out, leaving bowls, spoons, and spilled soup on the various tables, Sal rushes over and hops onto the table where the five are eating. He lands just an inch away from stepping on Vedic's book.
"Except you five. I want you to stay. Are you interested in making a good amount of money?"
Vedic yanks his book up off the table, protectively holding it to his chest with a perturbed look on his face.
"...I might be convinced."
"That's a good start, but I need to make sure you're genuinely interested." Sal looks Vedic over for a moment. "It seems money might not be your thing. How about lost tombs? Hoards of treasure? Ancient mysteries? Or maybe, you're the magic relic type, hmm?"
Derrick glances up again as Allustan and Sal step out of the office, though he quickly goes back to his soup. He nearly starts out of his seat when the gnome jumps on the table, though, and does succeed in upsetting his bowl, spilling some broth across the surface of the table. "Good-- ugh..." he says, perturbed.
Still, his mind starts racing at the mention of money. Would I be interested in making a good amount of money? That's about the ONLY thing I'm interested in. Derrick does his best to keep that thoughtline under control, though. He calmly looks up at the gnome and leans back, resting his hands behind his head. "That depends," he says, his voice calm and calculated. "How much money, and what do I have to do to earn it?"
Of course, that doesn't really matter, but if you show them that you're desperate, then they definitely won't offer as much.
"The money is probably around..." Sal looks down and begins to pretend to count on his fingers. "Oh, we're looking at 2,000 gold pieces." He looks up at Derrick. "Each. All I need is a little bit of exploring to be done."
Well this is an unexpected turn of events, Valsaya thinks to herself as she studies the gnome's face. After his offer, she glances around the room to see if anyone overheard, but that doesn't seem like the case.
Turning back to Sal, she swallows down the dry lump of bread before asking, "That's an awful lot of gold to be paying for 'a little bit of exploring'. What's this all about Sal?"
"Well," explains the gnome, "I'd do it myself, but I'm retired. My adventuring and exploring days are done. I thought, 'why not get some new blood in on this? I might inspire some new adventurers to make a career of it.' Seeing as you're the newest blood I've seen about town and you so happened to show up at my kitchen, it seemed, I don't know, fated. Five fresh young faces with nowhere else to go? It would be wrong of me not to offer the opportunity. Also, as you're so young you should have no problem with skulking about and dealing with whatever you find inside, hazardous or otherwise." A grin fills his face, taking up more space than most grins tend to do.
"Where? And why?"
"It's just outside of town. No more than an hour's walk even. If you need a reason why, just know that I'm rather interested in what's inside as is my buddy Allustan and like I said, we're retired. We would rather avoid doing the heavy lifting ourselves. Simple as that."
Valsaya gives the gnome a nod and a serious look. "You're a decent man, Sal, and if I can help you with this, I will. And honestly, we do good work here, but I could use a paying job for a change," she adds with an apologetic smile.
"We're gonna need to know what it is you're so interested in though, just so we know what to look for," she concludes, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
In answer to the mage's quizzical look, Ulfak stares at him for a while, "I am asking this three times. After second I get Salomon to tell me your name, Vedic. I do not listen good."
Then when the gnome comes over, Ulfak pushes back his seat, giving himself room to move freely. Then he listens, "this is a going to be a good day. Sal I will do this walk for some gold. But I wish to know why you and your friend want this done now? Today."
"What sign did Allustan see?"
Derrick holds his jaw shut, though it's an effort to keep it from dropping, when the gnome gives his sum. 2000! Imagine what you can do with that, Derrick!
Sadly, the young thief is a pragmatist of meager means; he comes up with nothing grandiose, but he knows the amount is large nonetheless.
Staying quiet while the others talk, another thought comes to him: The gnome's lying. He's got to be pulling our legs, nobody would pay that much for a simple task... Either we won't get that pay, or this is gonna be a lot harder than he's letting on. Either way, Derrick is a little reserved about jumping on this cart, but pay is pay to the thief.
"I dunno about decency or signs," Derrick finally says, "but gold is gold, and when you talk gold, you're speaking my language. Just so happens that 'exploration' is my area of expertise, so I'll take the job. Just tell me where to go and what to get--I don't care much for the why's."
"Well, actually Allustan didn't see anything. I, however, happened to find something quite interesting."
He rushes off to the office and returns with two scroll cases. He opens one and rolls out a map. The map details Diamond Lake and the surrounding countryside. North of the town, the map is littered with markings.
"These markings you see here are various cairns, burial sites if you will, that are in the countryside outside of town. Plenty of these are empty or have been emptied in the past years, but it doesn't prevent folks from searching them for whatever treasure and whatnots they can find. However, I want you to take a look at this other map."
From the second case he pulls an almost similar, albeit older, map. The one difference is that the second map has a cairn marked that is not marked on the first. It is labeled 'The Whispering Cairn.'
"I found this old map from, well, it doesn't matter where. As you can see there is one seemingly important cairn on this other map. Our current map of town has no mention of it and I believe it is an, as of yet, unsearched cairn. I was hoping to hold on to this information for a bit longer. However, recent news tells me there is a trio of adventurers from Magnimar who have come here to 'get rich from the cairns.' I'm worried they may know about this new cairn and I'd rather any large treasure or sacred relics come to more trusted hands."
"What Al and I want is a recovery team we can trust. Time is of the essence, though and seeing as we can't trust anyone else in town, it leaves us to asking you. The boy is on board, but he can't do it alone. What do you say?"
Cindersnake sits with her arms folded across her chest as she listens to Sal's offer. Her nose wrinkles at the talk of cairns and the showing of the first map, "Salomon of Diamond Lake, amongst my people it is considered the deepest disrespect to one's ancestors to desecrate their final resting places. Is this not the same for your people?" These tshamek have little in the way of honor for the spirits but then again I knew this before coming to this cursed land.
By the time the second map is drawn out and un-rolled upon the table, Cindersnake's eyes narrow as her gaze locks onto the name of 'The Whispering Cairn' while the gnome goes over his plan. She holds her tongue until he is done before forcefully planting her index finger atop the cairn's name, "This whispering tomb, what do you know of it? My dreams have been plagued as of late with visions of a deep hole where the whispering of the dead carries upon the wind as a mournful song. It is a warning from the spirits. Something dark and mysterious lies within and might bring weal or woe upon us all. If you wish to risk lives in this undertaking, I shall join them. Let it not be said that the Shoanti were scared to laugh in the face of danger." And be there to do what must be done if none other has the stomach.