"Tharka. I will see you in the morning then." she slowly gets back up, "I should really get some rest now."
"All right, that's settled," Rhona says. "Now, then, why don't I catch up with you guys in a couple minutes? I need to have a word with the Sarge alone, if you don't mind."
This is, of course, completely ignoring the fact that she had only just realized who she had been talking to before. The hairline was a bit different, the face lined a wee bit more heavily, but by Iomedae's grace, she knew this man. Knew him quite well- they had trained together for some time. An orc's axe to the face could certainly rearrange some features, but Rhona was sure that she hadn't changed so much that he wouldn't recognize her.
That's fine, Rhona. I reckon we ought to go to meet Drolik to sell a few items before he goes out for the night. Chantif slowly stands up from the chair and makes his way to the door.
Chantif limps over to Drolik. Name's Chantif. Honored to meet you. We've had a few run-ins with Gnolls and Kobolds and, well, they won't so much be needing any of their gear any longer. Care to take it off our hands?
The dwarf rubs his hands together and says: "Well, if'n there's business to conduct, I reckon the Sparrow will nae be runnin' out o'drinks, a'fore I get there." He stands up and says, as he walks over to the party, "Drolik's the name, and smithin' is the game." He shakes each party member's hand in turn, ending with Det. He motions towards Det's hammer and says:
"Well, Sarge, that's kind of a complicated situation, regarding who-knows-who and whatall..." She visibly cringes. "I already almost got us in trouble talking about our mission to some of your boys outside the town. I'd rather keep things quiet regarding all that, so if we could keep things on the hush-hush, that'd work for me, Sarge." She gives the man a little jab in the arm.
"Now, as for poor Jym... things are a little different, so far as I'm concerned. You do what you have to do to get our preacher man to fix him up. We've lost too many men to the Taloth already. Don't let us lose him, too. You get him up and at 'em so he can see my ugly mug again, all right? I gotta show these scars off for him, right?" Rhona is no good at hiding her concern, and the realization that she is among old friends seems to have brought her emotions to the boiling point. "Listen, I'm in no position to give you every last detail, but I'm working on something big, here. This could mean something. For all of us, I mean. If I don't get my fool self killed in the process, I think I'll make you proud. So, uh... just do whatever you can to make sure you and Jym are both still around to carry me around on your shoulders when I come home a hero, huh?" She chuckles nervously. "Anyway, look, I better catch up with the rest of the gang. Got gnoll crap to sell, drinks to consume copiously, and then I need to find one hell of a masseuse, because I seem to have picked out the single least-comfortable suit of mail in the kingdom to march around in. What I need right now are a couple of strong hands and a bucket full of warm, scented oils." She gives Pawal another hug. "It's good seeing you. Let me get out of your way. Guess I'll be seein' ya tomorrow, right?"
Between the temple and the blacksmith's Umash talks to the rest of the party with a lowered voice: "So I guess for the rest of our stay here my name is Tharka. The name wasn't actually all that important, but after Chantif described the spell they used, I just needed to test whether the spell worked with a simple little lie, before I say anything about our intentions. And well, this means I'll have to stick with the name, for the sake of the narrative."
By the time Rhona catches up to the party, they and Drolik are outside at the wagon. Drolik is examining the various items that the party has collected. He maintains an air of professional decorum throughout hte process. "A little dinged up, but the pair's worth 10 gold," he says as he examines the battleaxes carefully. "I'd be willin' to take some o' these bows an' arrows off yer hands, if ye're tired o' carryin' 'em." Then, his eyes go wide as he sees the pair of fancy knives you took from the kobold leader. "Wha' do we have here? An' Jaras was in jus' the other day, askin' after sommat like this... I'll give ye just over 300 gold for these two knives, 'nother 10 for the battleaxes, plus wha'ever we work out 'bout the bows. Tha's mah cash offer; I'll go a little higher if ye take some o'it in work or trade."
I continue to be quiet, sullen and withdrawn. All of my knowledge of battle comes from study, having never been in real combat before. Nearly dying in my first action is weighing heavily on my conscious and I am being particularly introspective currently.
|
Det looks shocked at what Drolik had said, he takes a minute to knock some of the rust off of his Dwarven, and then replies,
He subconsciously puts a hand on his hammer as he speaks. Then he adds, in common tongue, "You wouldn't happen to have any javelins would ya?
Those gathered in the blacksmith's shop see the dwarf smile and then guffaw as he finishes his Dwarven exchange with Det. He switches into Common: "Yes, I have some javelins. Why don't ya have a look at 'em after I figure out what I wanna buy off the lot o'ya."
"Sorry for the delay, ladies and gents," Rhona says as she approaches, seeming unusually chipper. "This must be Drolik." Rhona raises a hand in greeting. "These kids aren't giving you trouble, are they, sir?" She begins poking her nose around, trying to ascertain the situation thus far.
Drolik smiles as Rhona greets him and duplicates her guesture. "Aye, I'm Drolik, and yer friends 'ave beenn the verra model o'courtesy, even the greenskins, if a wee quiet. Are you the spokesperson for this ragtag bunch?"
Chantif nods. Aye. As for trade... he hoists out his longspear and sets it on his palms. ...one of the little grunts I mentioned did this to my spear. Can you repair it, or replace it?
|
|
Det's eyes widen, "t-that would be wonderful," he says, forgetting to speak in Dwarven. The he adds, "Your buying price sounds good to me, but a trade discount on the longspear, javelins, and whatever else my friends might need would be nice." Det figured he would try and get the best price possible.
"Thank you, and your odor is also surprisingly inoffensive... for a dwarf.", Umash murmurs from behind the rest of the group with her arms crossed, eyeing her surroundings idly.
Drolik inspects Chantif's longspear. Seeing the pattern of cracks, he says, "The fey bugger didnae care fer this, did 'e? I can fix it right up. It'll only take a couple o'hours; I'll start on it first thing in the morning. How long are ye plannin' on stayin' in town? If you're stickin' around a few days m'friend Danny ('e's the town tanner) might want that armor, but 'e's laid up a' the temple right a' the moment. If'n yer in a hurry, why I'll take it off yer hands. Can't give ya more 'n goin' rate for that, though, wi'out his say-so. He might give you a little more, if'n ya wait around. Same w' Jack, over at Whittle Me This, 'n those shields." Drolik grins in response to Umash's jibe.
Rhona frowns at the thought of having to wait around too long, unsure of the time table they've been given to work with. She pulls Chantif aside a moment before he can answer Drolik.
"Look, I'd normally be all for squeezing a few extra GP outta that gear, but we have no idea how long those Taloth a-holes are gonna be away from Old Allence. I don't think we should linger too long. I know I'm not the best decision-maker around, otherwise my armor would be all shiny and white and I wouldn't have these fantastic scars, so I'm going to defer to you on this one, pal. That's my two coppers, anyway."
Chantif nods to Rhona. Aye, Rhona. We should stay no longer than it takes us to heal up, but that might be a few days anyway. We shall see what we shall see.
He turns back to Drolik. We do need to be moving on, but we aren't in a condition to go back into Gnoll-infested wilderness just yet. We will see how the good father's healing leaves us feeling in the morning.
Drolik says, "Aye, well then, fair enough. Get yer healin', 'n then come back t'see me. I'll have yer gold ready. For now, 's closin' time: could I int'rest the lot o'ye in joinin' me at over a'the Sparrow?"
I think we would all be right glad to have some ale down our throats. As Chantif returns the shields and armor to the wagon he notices the runes on the belt.
He hands the belt to Drexel as they make their way to the tavern. Say, Drex, what do you think this is? The dog-face wore it like a belt.
"Interesting, it appears to be some sort of writing."
I turn it over in my hands, examining it as we walk to the bar. Once we arrive I give it a more through examination. I take a moment to steel myself and then cast detect magic, wincing at some of my movements.
After examining the buckle, next chance I get at the cart I glance over all the other items in the cart with detect magic active, making sure there are no other magic auras.
I quickly loose interest in the belt, tossing it onto the table between us. "It is a belt that augments ones ability to move about an enemy by tumbling. If someone feels that that would assist them we could make use of it otherwise it should sell well."
You may disdain it all you like, Drex, but, ah, "tumbling" kept me alive when those Kobolds surrounded me on the road a few days back. Chantif picks it up. Could I... wear it as an armband?
I pick it back up and unwind the rope pulling more and more, out of seemingly nowhere, until there is enough to wrap around Chantif a couple times. "And why would you need to wear it as an arm band?" I ask, handing it back with a smile.
"For fashion purposes, obviously," Rhona chips in helpfully. "Armbands are all the rage in New Allence these days. Didn't you know that, Drex? Snappy young fellow like you? For shame." She eyes the belt with a nostalgic eye. Had she not chosen to train herself to be an immovable object in battle, she might have had use for it herself; as it stood, she was glad Chantif had it. He had earned it.
The wagon makes its way back towards the temple, passing by some shops. One of them has "Tanner Hide" emblazoned with white paint above the door. The sign on the shop directly across the side street from the temple, obviously carved with a knife, reads "Whittle Me This". Further down, past the temple and on the other side of the road, the party sees a large, two-story establishment that has on its side a mural portraying a bird with musical notes coming out of its mouth. Correctly concluding that this is their destination, the party makes a left at the intersection and heads towards the stable area behind the building. An especially young-looking halfling is posted at the gate, and he says: "Hello. Will you be staying overnight?"
Chantif nods at the halfling.
The halfling points at the back side of the stable area. "Welcome! Overnight guests go over there and use the door on that end. You'll need to tie up the mules and the dog out here. When you go through the door, stop in at the first room on your right, that's the office, an' Mr. Djolik will set ya right up."
As you make your way inside, Sal barks a little at being left again. When you get inside, you go into the office, and a tall man who looks somewhat like the farmer whom you saved sits behind a large, wooden desk. As you enter, he stands and extends his hand, saying "Hello, and welcome to the Sparrow. I'm Djolik. How many rooms will you be needing?"
At Sal's bark, Chantif stops to pat his head. You'll be alright out here with the short one there. Keep the mules safe.
--
Oh, two rooms should be enough, I'll wager. We have something to show you, though...
Rhona grins at the man, seeing the similarity to the farmer they'd saved, and remembers the stone she was given. She digs it out of her bag and holds it up for Djolik to see. "You come highly recommended, Mr. Djolik," she says. "Courtesy of your cousin. His farm got waylaid by gnolls- don't worry, he's all right. We helped him out, and he sent us your way, since we were headed to Alenk Town."
As soon as the business is settled, Rhona sighs. She rolls her neck, grimacing at some of the soreness. "I'm just gonna be thankful for a real bed to crash in and a place to rest my heels for the night. Before that, though, I need at least one or two good mugs of ale and a handsome man to tell me I'm pretty. You need me, you can find me at the bar. ...Or a table near the bar. ...And if you don't find me, then don't wait up. I'll be around in the morning, promise."
Chantif avoids the common area and requests a meal and drink sent to his room. At Rhona's comment he quips, You have more than one reason to avoid the holy types, eh Rhona?
"Say, Chantif, that belt could become useful in maneuvering a battle. I only use light armor, so I might be able to make good use of it." Umash points at the belt of tumbling.
"Also Drex, depending on how much the smith is going to give us for all that gear, I might be able to collect some ingredients tomorrow and start whipping up some of those potions I owe you."
Chantif looks down at the belt around his waist. If you can make use of it I certainly won't begrudge it of you. He unwinds it from his waist and hands it to Umash.
Chantif avoids the common area and requests a meal and drink sent to his room. At Rhona's comment he quips, You have more than one reason to avoid the holy types, eh Rhona?
"Er... yeah, sure," Rhona says uneasily. She wonders if Chantif is aware that she was, at some point, considered to be a "holy type" herself. But there was no reason to burden the poor fellow with her sob-story past. She was in no mood to talk about it anyway. "But I'll be there to meet the good priest with you guys. I could use a little patchin' up myself. I just need a break." She seems weary and burdened as she says this.
Time to head to the bar.
"Say, Chantif, that belt could become useful in maneuvering a battle. I only use light armor, so I might be able to make good use of it." Umash points at the belt of tumbling.
"Also Drex, depending on how much the smith is going to give us for all that gear, I might be able to collect some ingredients tomorrow and start whipping up some of those potions I owe you."
After business is completed I make my way to our allotted rooms and collapse into a bed, hoping I feel better in the morning.
Seeing the stone, Djolik says, "Well, of course, you may have two rooms for the night without charge." He hands each of you three brown pebbles and a key to Chantif and Rhona. "And your first three rounds are on me. Enjoy your stay." As the party walks towards their rooms, they talk about their plans for the evening, and Umash gets the belt of tumbling from Chantif. Once the party reaches their adjoining rooms, Drexel heads inside and collapses. Rhona drops off her things and heads for the bar.
Chantif avoids the common area and requests a meal and drink sent to his room.
-Posted with Wayfinder
I wave to those that part and then ready myself for sleep. Easing into the bed gently.
To Chantif "I am glad we did not end up having to sleep on the ground after that beating we took today. I hope that we do not inconvenience the priest too much. The injured people here need his help more."
Umash will head to bed immediately.
Rhona stares, dumbfounded, at Detskiye upon hearing his confession. A half-orc who used to hang out with dwarves had never tasted a drop of ale? Blasphemy.
But she could fix that.
"Y'know what? I don't have a clue what these people serve here. Gimme a pebble." She takes one of her own and Det's, and slides them across the bar. "My good man," she says to the barkeep, "get me and my friend here the thickest, grimiest, prickliest ale you got. This is the kid's first drink ever, if you didn't hear. Let's make it memorable." She shoots the half-orc a huge grin. "You're entering a whole new world, Det. I feel like a mother bird watching her chicks leave the nest for the first time." When the frothy mugs finally arrive, she raises hers and clinks it against Det's, then waits to watch his expression when he takes his first sip. "By Iomedae's gleaming breastplate, that is the finest yuck-face I have ever seen! This is a glorious moment. If we're lucky, we'll remember it in the morning. Bottoms up, kid!"
When Det and Rhona reach the bar, they see that the common room isn't all that well-populated. There are three other people at the bar, and there's one table with several people (including Drolik), but other than that the place is pretty quiet.
Rhona glances around the mostly-empty bar and spots Drolik, giving him a wink and lifting her mug to him when he notices. "Barkeep, keep the drinks comin'," she says, gesturing to Det. "I'll be right back, pal. Got some minglin' to do." She raises a finger to her lips, hoping he'll get the meaning to keep quiet about it.
She gets up from her seat and walks over toward Drolik's table, looking to see if there's a seat available. "Evening, gentlemen," she says, taking a swig of her ale. "Anybody know any good tavern songs? I can't sing, but I sure as all hell feel like humming along. It's rough times like these we gotta get our spirits lifted, right?" She makes no indication that she knows Drolik when she comes over, at least unless he does so first.
One of the people at the table with Drolik, also a dwarf, says: "Aye, lass, I know a few."
He knocks back the rest of the ale in his cup and begins beating it against the table as he sings.
A few drinks later, Rhona is attempting, however, futilely, to sing along to the dwarven chantey while trying not to lose her balance in her precariously-tipped-back chair without taking her feet off the table. She is well aware that she is causing a scene, and absolutely unashamed of it. When the singing stops, she groans in disappointment.
"No, really, you guys," she says, her drawl exaggerated by the alcohol. "I needed this. It's been a rough trip. You have any idea how hot it's been out there? This is not, y'know, the best travel season. Anyway, I gotta- I gotta get to bed soon. Got stuff to do in the morning." She winks at Drolik knowingly. "And it's past my buddy over there's bedtime. You're good folks. Even if you don't remember my name after tonight, remember my face, eh?" She gets up from her seat, then adds: "Well, remember it being better-looking than this, I guess."
She curtseys to the men, nearly tripping over her own feet, and goes to collect Detskiye so they can return to their rooms and get some well-deserved rest.