...mhm...how much do you usually demand for such a task?
"More than your Mayor can bear" Attalas grins wickedly.
I am sure you didn't come all the way here without an idea of what you can offer. Think about it...would you rather make the first bet yourself or have them do it?
Confusion is only adding up as Ragnvald speaks of betrayal, Attalas threatens the mayor, Mobo doesn't have a clue of anything and Kosti remains totally calm
Ah well..hah...uh... the man laughs nervously, licks his lips and finally manages a 1000 gp for each of you?
Confusion is only adding up as Ragnvald speaks of betrayal, Attalas threatens the mayor, Mobo doesn't have a clue of anything and Kosti remains totally calm
Ah well..hah...uh... the man laughs nervously, licks his lips and finally manages a 1000 gp for each of you?
Jez looks at her partially eaten dinner, up at the man, then at her companions, then finally back to the man.
1000 gold? We have escaped a haunted courthouse, we saved a town from the destruction of worshippers of Ghlaunder, and most recently hunted down an ice Jarl in his maze of ice. Do you really think that a mere 1000 gold each is going to be sufficient to retain the service of our team of strongmen?
Diplomacy:
The man gulps down anything that could even be hardly considered as a yes and laughs nervously
Of course this was just a joke...a joke amongst adventurers heh...so, what I really wanted to offer was 2000 gp each!
Jez thinks about this offer for a few minutes before turning to her companions:
What do you all think. Should we go fishing, or sea hunting, or whatever it is that this fellow seems to think needs doing? What he is offering should be enough to cover the cost of food if nothing else.
She pauses and looks at the huge ogre and giant Ulfen before turning to Mobo.
Even for you.
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Hah...uh no...surely not...do I look that stupid? Naturally I have them in Blackcove...and it will be quite a journey to get there I fear. Uh...you play the drums?
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Ready for transition to Blackcove?
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Fatty is good to go.
"To the land of devils and mad men we go to face the darkest nightmares of the cold seas. There is a poetry in this only the those who walk the Path of Gore can appreciate."
A journey from Galt to Cheliax is nothing one would call easy...but once you have reached the coast again, you are at least safe from the Hellknights' inquiries...
When after many weeks finally the steep cliffs surrounding Blackcove come into view dark clouds gather in the distance and block out the already feeble fingers of light. The town, small houses huddled together seems somehow out of place as if it wasn't meant to be in this rather wild nature with its black cliffs and churning sea.
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"Grab your torches and pitchforks, it's a Ogre" Attalas mutters under his breath as he looks towards the town.
"So 'ere we are and woe is me
with big black cliffs and churnin' sea
the locals might not friendly be
doubt they'll have us in for tea
'specially with this monstrosity"
Attalas points at Mobo in mock accusation.
Wearing a light sleeveless shirt over her new chain shirt, and apparently oblivious to the chill wind and water spraying up from the angry sea, Jez watches as the shore slowly approaches.
What do you suppose? A clan of devil worshippers? A simple fishing village? A strange cult? With a town like this, I am sure that something strange will be going on, lets just figure what it is and eliminate it before it can annoy us.
"Next time we kill a bunch of idiot armigers on the road I request the goblin eats their pickled hearts away from the campire." Ragnvald shrugs at the questions. "The smell of the sea calls up an old hunger in me. One I've not felt since a boy. Never been much for sailing, but the ocean is in my blood. My tribe had many tails of the things that dwell beneath the waves."
I for once will be glad to be back on steady ground, even if the sight of that town is somewhat more chilling then the seawind...
The ship - sped up by the wrathful sea - seems to fly into the harbour and you are more than a little relieved when the bow finally makes contact with the pier...still the vessel bobs up and down, and the ocean's force is still tangible, even though a natural bay (in which the harbour proper lies) reduces the elements' impact greatly.
At the pier a man, wearing a dark jack-tar has been waiting...obviously for quite a time already...he nods to the crew and walks over to your railing, puts down a gang plank and puts his hand forth
Welcome to Blackcove!
Jez smiles at the goblin's enthusiasm:
Well met sir. What accommodations do you have for several travel weary folk wanting to get their land legs back.
Diplomacy:
The man's gaze switches from Mobo to Jez and back to Mobo...even the freak goblin seems more charismatic than the weird girl
I'm mayor Bomorin, once a wealthy merchant but now a grief-stricken man...we have rooms for you at our only inn, the Wharf's Bell.
Jez laughs:
Mobo, I know you are a goblin by birth, but I hope he said Wharf's Bell and not Barf's Well.
Jex then reaches up and begins to casually twirl her blue hair, which strangely never seems to grow from its usual neck long length.
Jez gives out another girlish giggle. She then points to a large bell by the dock.
A wharf's bell. To be rung to announce the arrival of a ship or a danger.
She then points to a trough outside what appears to the the cheapest and scummiest bar near the dock:
And that is a barf's well, where those who have drunk too much . . . relieve themselves.
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Wait, what, Barf's well...that was...almost surprisingly clever and unfortunatly true...
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Attalas whispers "Careful here, it's a Mayor in his native habitat... be wary of the treachery for we already have the first sign - his lips are moving"
Don't be too alarmed...if you can hear them without them moving their lips...that is when it is time to worry!
Attalas looks at Kosti with an expression of slight shock and alarm, as though his dire warning may one day play out.
Jez looks to Attalas:
Fortunately we know that Mayors can be quite easily pummeled into a blood pulp, even one possessed by demons.
Bomorin nods to the ship's crew and leads you down the pier to a rather stately inn. A massive three-storey building surrounded by a low wall. Several lanterns dangle above the entrance to both sides of an ancient looking large bell.
That's it...dou you need some time for refreshing yourselves or shall we talk about the business-matters at once?
"Refreshment while business." Ragnvald states as they take a table and he waves a wench over.
Jez looks around for something to eat. The rat in the corner looks good until she recalls that the humans of these lands seem to have slightly different culinary preferences than those in the Worldwound. Sighing as the long tailed treat scurries into a hole in the wall, she takes a tankard that Ragnvald ordered and waits to hear what the mayor wants.
The wench is a handsome blonde girl, barely eighteen but there lies a somberness upon her that takes away all the magic a young female has. Shadows underneath her eyes give testament of the hard times Blackcove has experienced during the last weeks.
With a forced smile she serves beer, fish and roasts and while you were the only ones in the taproom when you entered, during the last half hour more than thrity villagers have arrived and are now staring at you from other tables.
Thank you, dear. Kosti says, smiling, palming her a piece of silver, watching if her expression changes at all.
Jez gives the other patrons a smile and a cheerful wave:
Nice town you have here, why all the sour looks? If there is anything that we can assist you all with, just let me know.
Attalas stares at the girl for a while as though in deep consideration, his eyes take her in for a moment and then go very very distant as though he is reliving a hurtful memory. After a few moments he seems to come back to the now... "I knew a girl once and she she was pretty like you, she had nice hair too, and she was sad. She died. Maybe this time it all work out better"
Attalas goes back to pondering as he regards the other patrons, half an eye raised "Taverns. I don't like taverns. I got one job, mind the tavern, then stupid drunk gets to trouble and starts fight and poor Attalas hit him too hard. Then they take Attalas away 'Secret mission' they said, 'wait here by the road for us' they said, and they never came back. All taverns fault. Taverns must be made up by Mayors"
The faintest hint of a smile steals its way into the girls expression, but when Attalas starts his strange tale, she backs away a bit, fearfully.
Before she is able to say anything, the bartendersteps in front of her and tries to light up the situation
Dire times indeed...many a good man has vanished in the last weeks...none of them came back, but bodies were found...mutilated beyond...you know...we could only identify them by their clothes.
Mutilated bodies? Where have they been found - and what was the nature of the wounds? Weapons? Claws or teeth? Spells?
The bartender nervously looks around, licks his lips and pales
Well, I guess I have already said to much...there are people in Blackcove who are more suited to telling these hapening than a stupid barkeep, right, hah...the next on's on me, kay?