Brok enters, wary of an ambush.
(+2 fro traps)
"Brok thinks Arlok owes him a grog....."
He laughs.
"Yes. Bring Brok goblin drink too. Drinks for all Arlok's friends."
As the godling and goblin make their way in for refreshments, Keil mutters under his breath, "A mongrelman?"
Wary of the mongrelman's preference to be left alone, Keil stands to take in the room from a better vantage. Satisfied that there is no immediate danger, Keil addresses the creature, "Who are you? How is it you came to be here? And, where's your menu?"
"Make it a double!"
Malzii does not see anyone else tending the bar other than the mongrelman. On hearing the skepticism from the kobold shaman he snorts in reply ignoring the fetchlings questions. "I do just fine here. Plenty of traffic from here to Rappan Athuk. Even the priests have got to eat and drink ya know!"
When Keil and Arlok demand refreshments, Urovok perks up immediately. "Got it. Ale is 1 silver per mug, gallon is 4 silver. Also have pitcher of wine for 4 silver. For meals I got sausages fer ya. 2 silver per sausage and they are big ones! Even big enough for you, my friend!" He exclaims pointing at Arlok.
As he heads back to fetch your drinks he calls out, "If you need rooms for rent. 10 gold for my small room and 50 gp for the large ones"
Arlok walks over and pulls a larger sack out and dumps all 672 copper on the bar.
"Keep ale and sausage coming. For Arlok and friends."
Brok's eye's narrow when the giant roach offers them sausages.
"Brok knows what goblin cooks put in sausages at the end of the month....."
"Plenty of traffic? When was the last group of priests through here?"
Pleased with the godling's logic to use the copper in payment, Keil nods in Arlok's direction before seating himself with a clear view of all the entrances and his back towards a wall. The shadowy man wastes little time in setting to work on the meal of sausage and ale but sets aside a few morsels for later. Holding up his empty hip flask the fetchling asks, "What spirits do you offer?" It has been a while since whiskey of any sort has pasted between Keil's thin lips.
Grey opened his pack and ordered Shade into it before they set foot into the inn. He took off his mask and hung it on his shoulder.
"We have goods to trade." he said to the Mongrelman innkeep. "Do you traffic in supplies?"
Urovok glances over at the mass of copper coins dropped out on one of the tables. "Do I look like a moneychanger to you?" He shakes his head in disgust. "Still if you want to exchange some of those coins out I can see what I have."
He reaches behind the bar and pulls out a bottle of unopened whiskey, setting it down in front of the fetchling. "10 gold for the bottle. Been trying to get rid of it for a long time."
When Praetor mentions trade goods, a glint appears in his beady goblin-like eyes. "I have a small store of supplies and treasures. What are you interested in?"
The shadowy man raises an eyebrow. Urovok's bottle interests the fetchling but he's not about to overpay. Trying to get a little more information about both the age of the bottle and label Keil seizes upon Urovok's preference for hard currency. With some effort the shadowy man digs into the folds of his cloak and eventually produces 7 gold coins. Stacking them slowly one at a time he lets the metallic sound of the coins clinking upon each other play on the mongrelman's ears before countering, "7gp. A nameless bottle that's been sitting around can't be worth 10."
Urovoks eyes light up at the challenging tone in Keil's voice. "Well, my friend I think you are not a well traveled soul if you do not recognize this particular brand..."
Trying to read the label on the bottle, Keil narrows his eyes but it seems it is to no avail - perhaps he needs glasses or perhaps the mongrelman has his hands over it; its difficult to tell. Wringing his hands in frustration the fetchling approaches Urovok to get a closer look at the bottle, bringing a foul odor with him. "Perhaps you can illuminate me."
In an attempt to appease any perceived insult, Keil attempts a skittish smile and shrug combination as he points a thumb over his shoulder towards the kobold as though to silently imply, The woman plainly doesn't understand.
From atop Malzii's shoulder Scoot makes a soft chittering sound and waves one leg in front of his many eyes as if trying to facepalm.
Can't talk their way out of a burlap sack...
Keil looks over the bottle of whisky and soon determines it is not a particularly good vintage. Still the fact the whisky is out here far from any civilized areas does make it rather rare so Urovok is simply taking advantage of that fact.
"Sorry, price stays at 10 gold. You look like you all have money to burn here so I think you can afford it."
Turnig his attention to the others, "Any of you want to make other purchases here? I have some items here that would prove helpful if you are heading to Rappan Athuk."
"Depends on what you've got."
At the mongrelman's insinuation that there is money to burn Keil stifles a growl, covering it up by muttering "Not really." His mouth dry, the fetchling looks longingly at the seven pieces of gold in his hand before finally scratching some dried vomit from behind an ear, "Throw in a couple extra flasks and we have a deal."
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Grezzor watches the barter with mild interest, more curious about the bottle itself.
At the mongrelman's insinuation that there is money to burn Keil stifles a growl, covering it up by muttering "Not really." His mouth dry, the fetchling looks longingly at the seven pieces of gold in his hand before finally scratching some dried vomit from behind an ear, "Throw in a couple extra flasks and we have a deal."
"That may be a good option" - the goblin nods - "Also if we are doing further business, finding a compromise would be a good way to start?"
Urovok returns the fetchling's 'smile' with one of his own before handing over the bottle of whisky to him and also a bottle of wine which Grezzor readily determines is of a poor vintage.
"Pleasure doin' business witcha!" Urovok returns to his station behind the bar. "Need anything else from me?"
"Any weapons that aren't made for over-sized lunks like him?" Brok asks, nodding towards the ale-guzzling Arlok.
While he waits for Brok to finish his dealings, Keil carefully hands over the gold and secures the bottles before approaching the counter again, "I also require three flasks, a mask and several days of rations; wandermeal as well if you have it." Keil is cheap but haggling for relatively inexpensive items is a waste of his time; finished bartering Keil hands Urovok the coins without bother.
With a handful of items to add to his inventory, the shadowy man returns to his seat. Taking up the quarter staff he'd been using as a walking stick, Keil begins to shave down the ends. Not enough to weaken it, but rather, like the tip of a pencil, slightly tapering down the ends. The fetchling next takes the oak shavings and carefully inserts them into the bottle of whiskey, replacing the cork when finished.
As Arlok has already ordered all the sausages the mongrelman has for the group Keil nods a reserved thanks, takes the flasks and pays Urovok. Next he asks, "Scraps of old leather...needle? thread?" Then catching a whiff of himself and the state of this clothing the fetchling rolls his eyes adding, "Laundry service?"
Grey hands the two orcish brothers a small bag of coin. "Eat. Drink. Do not get so drunk you cannot work."
"Roachman. How far to Rappan Athuk?" Arlok yells out as he stuffs his face.
Urovok returns to the table and unceremoniously dumps the scraps of cloth on the table. "Here ya go." He says to Keil.
"Rappan Athuk eh?" His ears perk up on hearing Arlok's question. "Not too far. Probably a couple of day's if ya gots horses, longer if ya don't. Got some business up there?"
"Day's? Arlok travel far already. Arlok tired."
"Ahh..." With a sneer which he thinks passes as a smile of gratitude, Keil stows his newly acquired bottles of drink safely in his pack and begins sorting through the scraps. To begin, the fetchling chooses only the stiffest leathers, combining softer scraps to use together should he not have enough. He uses these stiff leathers to give his mask the stability he's looking for. With patient determination the shadowy man cuts the pieces with his dagger; a triangular piece for the nose, half moons to go over his sharp cheeks, long thin straps for his weak jawline, a trapezoid for his mouth and a large figure eight to go over his eyes. He spends time checking that the shapes are the right size by placing them on his face, adjusting his cuts as he goes to ensure his vision is clear and the holes large enough for him to breathe. To sew the pieces to his blanket Keil first punches a hole into the leather using the tip of his dagger before pressing the needle through all the layers. With a thicker layer of blanket over his mouth and nose to absorb stench or filter gases, a single layer covers the rest of his face framed by the pieces of leather leaving long straps at the sides for tying at the back. The shadowy man tries the mask several times to check more for functionality than for comfort before he is done, then wears it like a bandana around his neck for quick access.
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Grey watches Keil work silently. When the shadow-man was finished the orc witchdoctor slid his own mask across the table to rest next to new one.
Grey's mask was supple dark grey leather that made him look as though his facial features were only the merest impressions. The eyes were actually smoked lenses that blended with the leather so well that it took effort to see they were there at all. Light grey bone rose from the leather on one side of the face showing the brow ridge, cheekbone, half the nasal cavity and teeth of a grinning skull. The bone was etched with an array of savage looking patterns. Deep in the etching was dark red lacquer giving the bone hints of blood welling up in the carved cracks.
"Mine looked like yours when I started." he said quietly. "Our lady's power guided me to better work."
"Would you like me to guide you?"
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"Okay ... now things are starting to get creepy."
"Okay ... now things are starting to get creepy."
With a sideways glance Keil consider's the witch's offer. Clearly, Grey has experience with masks and did improve the function of his tools, "The goddess' touch would be appreciated." Handing his mask over to Praetor for inspection the fetchling adds, "It is crude, but should function as intended. What changes would you suggest?"
"Brok and friends got lost trying to find way to Rappan Athuk, good to hear we are on the right road now." Brok tells the oversized roach.
"We used lots of supplies traveling the halls, do you have any alchemist's fire stashed away down here? It's good for clearing messes out of the way."
"Alchemist Fire? Yeah I think I have some left from where that metal-man traded me...now where did I put them?..." Urovok ducks behind the bar counter and rummages for a minute before pulling out a chest and cracks the lid open. "Ahhh, here ya go! Each one is thirty gold. Take it or leave it."
"Thirty gold!?! I just want flasks .... not entire barrels!"
"Okay ... now things are starting to get creepy."
With a sideways glance Keil consider's the witch's offer. Clearly, Grey has experience with masks and did improve the function of his tools, "The goddess' touch would be appreciated." Handing his mask over to Praetor for inspection the fetchling adds, "It is crude, but should function as intended. What changes would you suggest?"
"The soul knows what it wants, even if the hands cannot translate."
Grey held Kiel's arm over his mask and handed him a wickedly sharp ceremonial knife. "Cut. Then pray while you work. Let the goddess guide your hands. She hears your soul far better than your hands do."
"What is the riddle of steel, Malzi?" Praetor countered. He wasn't wearing his mask, so she could see his faint, slightly enigmatic smile.
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Varg watches the mask makers with bewilderment.
You planning on concealing you appearance from demons? I doubt they really care who you are.
With that, the stoney dwarf sits down in the corner and begins a complex combination of meditation and stretching, stretches that appear quite painful, but do not seem to cause the dwarf any discomfort.
"Anyone who sees me and wonders who I am is truely missing the point."
"Masks are not about the concealment of identity, No one believes a person in a mask is anything other than a person in a mask. If someone wishes to pretend to be someone else, lies are far better suited to that sort of duplicity. No. Masks are for creating identity. They are purpose built. My mask shows my devotion to my goddess and creates a symbol by which I am known. It says that who I am beneath the mask is irrelevant. Instead of concerning with who I am, those who see the mask focus on [b]what I am, which is far more important."[/b]
"We all wear masks. Some are just more literal than others."
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While waiting on the roaches response, Brok digs his index finger into his big, floppy right ear. He roots around in their for a second before dragging out some weird gribbly thing.
Looking around sheepishly to see if anyone notices, he wipes it on the underside of the table.