As you draw near the city, you decide it's time to put on some disguises. But not everyone is skilled at that. Someone will need to apply their expertise...
A couple of passersby eye where Melia is pointing and seem to nod to themselves. New to the city, apparently they are happy to have this major landmark pointed out.
Kazador walked along, his runic armor disguised as a simple hooded cloak with the type of traveler’s clothes that wouldn’t stand out as unusual. Wool trousers, a belted linen tunic and thick leather boots. The cloak itself appeared well worn, but not in disrepair. It was the kind of cloak that looked like it could have been passed down for generations, worn down by age, not neglect. Over said cloak was his backpack, which contained the usual necessities of travel. All in all, the appearance he went for was that of someone used to the road, but not completely unused to coin. The only sign of wealth on him was a silver torc that started at his right hand and coiled all the way up to his shoulder. A fancy piece of jewelry, which was in fact his beloved hammer. That, and his buckler. It did not have the runes on it like his armor and thus could not be hidden. But then again, a shield so small was unlikely to raise any signs of alarm.
He felt, not for the first time, as a minority. But while he got a hair’s more attention than the others, at least it came with respect.
Said respect went in his favor. A few words here and there and before long they had the Thundering Lizard Tavern before them. ”A good a place as any to rest our feet.”
As the approached the city Fyrtor cast the two spells he'd prepared beforehand for the purpose of creating a new identity. During the trip Mel had shown him her hat of disguise, which had impressed him. Knowing the challenges ahead he'd worked with Turion to see if he could use what magic he knew to imitate the magic of the hat. The effort proved to be too much, the druid's magic simply wasn't suited to the task, but together they were able to create a spell for Fyrtor that would allow his to assume a single subtle disguise. That combined with the one that he already knew for changing colors allowed him to create what to him was a satisfactory alternate.
During the trip Fyrtor had also worked with Mel on the finer points of assuming another identity. The shepherd turned druid was a poor student though. As it was he did what he could. Mel had suggested keeping his alternate identity close to what he knew as his abilities to do more were limited at best.
The man who approached the gates was not Fyrtor Smithson, druid cleric of Sarenrae, but Garick Fyrman, hunter and trapper. He wore a long brown travel cloak, a simple tunic and leggings with tall calf-high boots. His armor appeared to be well tanned leather. Across his back alongside a quiver of arrows he wore his longbow. A long curved knife, protruded from his belt next to a several belt pouches.
Once inside his brief time in speaking with other travelers confirmed the thinks Kazador and Mel had found.
The group has arrived in the hustle and bustle of Bannerhold and tries to decide what to do next.
Near the Reguline are three places where one could rent a house:
1. The docks district where most of the housing is working class
2. The merchant district where there is plenty of upper class housing
3. The market district, which mostly houses servants who work nearby, especially in the merchant district or on the Reguline
As you walk, you hear criers shouting for men to sign up with the military.
"Isn't this exciting?" Melia says. "Now Dad mentioned a bit about where to look for a house, because there are lots and lots and lots of houses in Bannerhold because it's such a big city, you know, and Mom said to definitely look for one in the merchant district because that way we'd make a good first impression and meet all the right people, but Dad cautioned that that's probably expensive, and money doesn't grow on trees (wouldn't that be amazing if it did? Only then everybody would be rich, so nobody would be, and then everyone would be poor) so maybe one in the market district would be better because it's still close by, but not so pricey and way nicer than the docks district which is full of, well, docks and sailors and warehouses and probably taverns and floozies and drunk people and crooks so that wouldn't be very nice, but on the other hand it would probably be LOTS cheaper than the other two and close to the warehouses. What do you think?"
She bounces eagerly during this run-on sentence, beaming at the party once she finishes, but keeps the pitch of her voice comparatively low so as not to shout their plans to every passerby.
Fyrtor shakes his head. It's like she's a completely different person...
"I think the market district you mentioned sounds fine. I don't know that I'd be comfortable in the richer parts of town, but there's no need to court trouble either."
"Toooooooo the market district!" Mel declares, thrusting her index finger into the air and marching confidently in a direction that may or may not take her to the market district.
”Market? Good. Gonna need to buy a healer’s kit. Let’s see what merchants we can find.”
"Market district sounds fine. I don't think the docks would be much trouble, either. I guess we should find out how well patrolled either district is? For our safety?", Janus tags along, looking almost as confused about the big city as his dog.
The group decides to make for the market district, winding through some of the major streets until you start seeing more and more hawkers shouting about the virtues of their goods.
You see a middle-aged woman selling daggers, an old man selling fruit, and a young woman selling pretty painted plates.
Within the market district, you see several established businesses as well. Three wooden signs shown a shining glass flask filled with a blue liquid, a golden necklace set with a ruby, and a cozy fireplace, likely indicating an inn.
You hear that the proprietor of the Homely Hearth, the inn advertised with the wooden sign, rents homes.
Fyrman chats with a couple of hawkers, browsing their wears. He mentions that he's new to the city and looking for a place to stay long term and woman selling plates gives him a winning smile letting him know that the proprietor of the Homely Hearth, the inn advertised with the wooden sign, rents homes.
"Many thanks" Fyrman returns the smile. Returning to the others he explains what he learned. "Let's see if we can rent a house from the man that runs the Homely Hearth there"
Mel immediately focuses on the plates. "Oooh," she gushes, leaning down to inspect them. "So fancy! Do you paint them yourself, miss?"
The young woman wears a plain light brown dress and winces when Melia calls her work "fancy." She curtsies and nods politely. "Yes ma'am. I did."
"Well, they're just gorgeous! Why, I wouldn't be surprised to see these gracing the table of a count or a duke or even the king himself!"
Fyrman leans towards the hawker in a conspiratorial way, "She's rather... enthusiastic. Come Melia we need to speak with the inn keeper. The lady here needs to be about her business."
Since the inn is very close by, Garick (and perhaps another), head in to talk to the innkeeper while Melia talks to the hawker.
You step into the inn and immediately enjoy the warm atmosphere and literal warmth of the multiple fires inside. Most of the patrons have taken off their cloaks and are relaxing and chatting while sipping ales and eating. Several burly men are gathered in the corner arm-wrestling and placing bets on the outcomes.
Behind a bar, a busy-looking man in his mid-fifties is passing out plates of food and drinks while pocketing coppers and silvers left and right.
The young woman stands straighter and a slight smile crosses her face. "Really? Then I suppose you wouldn't be surprised to see them on Duke Beaumont's table! His wife commissioned a full set that I'm working on right now!"
The young woman puts her hands on her hips in a thoughtful, business-like fashion as she regards the plates. "Normally, I don't make them in sets. But these four could go as a set." She points out four white plates that all depict horses in different fashions. "Or these could be a set of six." She points out six red plates with a variety of golden castles painted upon them.
Absentmindedly, she responds to the other question. "I suppose. The plates are due a week from now. The maid was very specific about that."
"Oh, the horses, please. I've been mad for horses ever since I was little!" she says, producing coin from her haversack.
With that transaction complete, Melia makes her way over to the Homely Hearth, a steps light and a smile on her lips. Half way there she notices that she has been skipping, and self consciously adjusts her stride to a more sedate pace.
I'm glad I took that elective course on acting, she thinks as she enters the establishment.
Now you all meet up in the Homely Hearth.
Janus listens to the transaction at the Plate Seller from a nearby stand, but does not get involved. Further inquiry into the banket may be reasonable...such as the amount of plates, or if they had a special motive, but he could hardly interrupt an ongoing conversation between strangers.
Eventually, he and Nelly head towards the Homely Hearth. Taking a seat near the bar, he waits his turn to order: "One bowl for me, with a piece of bread and some beer. And if you got any raw stuff left that you can't make use of, there's a tip on behalf of my hunting dog in it for you if you'd let us have that."
Dogs were pitiful creatures. That was even more clear now, when she was reduced to the size of one and had to walk among them, pretend to be one.
Túrion had explained it to her, and she understood the necessity of not spooking people in the city. But they were pitiful creatures all the same.
Weak. Bound. Small.
Just minutes ago, a dog not even a third of her current, reduced volume, had tried sniffing her butt. If not for Túrion, she would be gnawing on its bones right now.
In addition, it seemed she was expected to mark territory, without properly claiming it for a pack. These dogs just marked all over the place, rather than settling disputes in a battle to the death.
And instead of a glorious hunt with a prized kill, she would eat leftovers? That which even humans deemed inedible?
But alas, the alternative was to stay in the woods, and she could certainly deal with these things if it meant she could be near her Master.
For a time.
Fyrman surveys the commonroom as he enters a wide smile coming to his face. After a moment's pause to bask in the friendly atmosphere he moves to speak with the innkeeper. "Ho there innkeeper, I'll have a bowl as well." When the man soon returns with a bowl Fyrman tries to engage him in conversation, "Seems like a fine place you run here. My name's Fyrman, Garick Fryman actually, but everyone just calls me Fyrman. Anyways, I'm new to the city, but me and a few folks I met on 5he road figure we're going to be here a while. I'm told you rent houses out? I'd be interested in what you have to offer. I'm not rich, but last seasons furs sold well, brought me enough coin to make this trip and still have a bit left over for the stay. So, what do you have to offer?"
The man behind the bar nods to Janus and calls his order back to the kitchen. While handing a pair of mugs to burly patron nearby, he nods to Nelly "Nice dog you have there. Thinking about betting on her? I bet she could win a fight or a haring."
A couple minutes later, Garick asks about lodging and the barkeep nods "The name's Walter. Walter Stone. Yes I can do that for you. Well I have a few places open right now." He then describes a couple of locations.
Kazador could smell the ale, and his mouth felt so dry. He sat down and fought the urge to order a pint. He deserved it, didn’t he? After all he had went through. One mug wouldn’t hurt, right? And he was a dwarf, wasn’t he? Nobody would think twice about it. He strummed his fingers on the table as he considered it, remembering the taste of a cold brew. It had been so long...
...his hands went to his head, where his Glamered helm was. He took a deep breath, recalling his oath. To himself. To his god. At length he resolved to order a basic meal with water, and a one bedroom apartment. Unhappily he kept to himself, feeling that being quiet and uncommunicative was the best way to not blow his cover.
When Kazador walks in, some of the men watching the arm-wrestling spy him. "Hey, here's one of the stout folk now. Come, master dwarf! We hear your kind are as tough as nails. Come show us!" They try to wave him over to an open seat where the arm-wrestling is happening.
When Melia enters the establishment, she sees a middle-aged woman come bustling out of the kitchen, her arms overloaded with plates of food precariously balanced. "My lands, Walter! I have too much to do! If only the duchess hadn't hired Maggie and Alice away from us at the drop of a hat!"
"I like the sound of a place with a kitchen. I'll take the one room place for four gold a night. How much for a month's stay? I assume you expect payment up front. So as I said I'm new to the city, came to learn more about this New Model Army, might join up. Do you know much of it?"
Janus receives his own mug, looks at Nelly while taking a sip, then back at the barman:"Oh, she's a mighty fine one. But she's used to the hunt. If she bites, she does so to kill. She could win, alright, but I wouldn't leave the place happy knowing how she did it...but she's remarkably well-trained - by me - and smart. I had hoped to find some work as an animal trainer in the capital and brought her as proof of my ability - I am used to rearing and training all sorts of beasts... Do you think I could impress the right people to find a job at such a betting place? I had hoped to find employment with some Lord, or the Army, but one has to start somewhere, I suppose-"
Melia approaches. "Oh, I think I overheard a bit of your conversation, sorry, but you rent out houses? Perfect! I too am looking for a place. Dad said it should be nice but not TOO expensive, but Mom said that you have to spend money to make money and we need to look respectable if we want to find customers, so I guess maybe the two-room one? Yes, that sounds about right, because then I can have a room and so can Khaz -- he's over there -- who is my, well, not my bodyguard per se because I'm not really important enough to need a one of those, but it's a good thing he's around because people are just ever so much more polite when you have a hardy dwarf on hand, don't you think? So a two-bedroom one, please. Is there a lease or something or do we just pay you and do you have any rules about hanging things on the walls? Because I might want to put some paintings on the walls, you know, of important people and pretty people and, well, just people because I like people. Oh, and I'd like a map of the city so I can start learning it properly, do you know where I could find one of those?"
She smiles winningly and sparkles as she launches this veritable tsunami of words at the poor barkeep.
Kazador looked over at the men, his warrior-blood pumping. Without thinking he got to his feet, eager to enjoy a good bout of arm-wrestling. He then paused. His cover! He was supposed to be a surly physician. The second someone talked to him and the cover was right out the window. His cheeks flushed.
”Oh! Eh...aye. Aye. I’m but a physician, ye know. Haven’t done much since I worked the mines as a lad, but I’m sure there’s some strength in these arms yet.” He said, making it up as he went along. ”So who’s it gonna be.” He sat down with them, his arm already on the table. His calloused hands ready to go, though the size of his arms were for the most part hidden by his clothes. With any luck he’d come across as friendly and humble, rather than arrogant.
The barkeep nods to Garick "Sure, I can rent that place for you. If you can pay a week in advance, I'll cut it to 3 gold pieces a night. If you want to pay a whole month now, that's fine with me." He turns back and picks up a bottle from a rack behind the bar and begins pouring for another patron. "As for the army, sure I know about it. Army boys in here all the time drinking and talking. Sounds like a real shake up. It's not the nobles that get the officer posts no more. Now it's anybody who's got the record or the training. And that's not the only change. Regular drills, regular pay, uniforms and weapons issued to every man. Seems a good way to show those elves who's who, if you ask me."
After his conversation with Garick, the barman chats with Janus some while slinging drinks. "Then it sounds like haring is exactly what you want to do with her! I guess yer new here and don't know much about it. A hare gets set loose in a big contest area and you and your dog chase it down. They time ya. Best time wins! That'd certainly get some attention."
You end up opposite a heavy-set farmer who grins. "Sure, master dwarf. Let's just see what you've got." You grip each others hands tightly...
Kazador eyed the man. He looked strong. As strong as himself, it seemed. His enthusiasm dimmed as he thought of his cover story. Should he go easy? Would it look bad if he embarrassed the man? The match started and it instantly changed his mind as to that. Suddenly it became a need to not be instantly tabled!
While waiting for the barkeep to get to her, Melia tries to look pert.
It works surprisingly well!
The busy barkeep listens to Mel's verbal assault and nervously calls out "Er... Matilda?" His matronly wife comes out through a doorway from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a brown apron. "Yes Walter?" He gestures to Melia and Matilda steps up "Yes, lass. What can I help you with?" When Melia repeats her questions, Matilda nods "Yes you can rent a room. We can give you a discount if you pay a week in advance. It's just an agreement between us and a handshake. If you want to hang up paintings, that's fine. Just don't leave any big holes in the walls. As for a map of the city... Hm... Well I suppose that Alexander's might have that. It's a bookstore a few minutes from here."
The farmer grins and exerts his beefy arms
He begins shoving Kazador's hand closer to the table!
"Oh, haring sounds good! Yes, I think that will work nicely to get some attention. Could you, perchance, direct me towards where I'd go about registering for such an event? And is it frowned upon to bet on oneself? Or is that acceptable?", Janus responds cheerfully.
Not only was this a means to accomplish part of what he wanted, possibly even catching the attention of some noble that could be useful - no, more importantly, Nelly would also love the sport. Compete with others to proof she was the best hunter? She'd love that.
Túrion only hoped such events were mundane enough that magical cheating was not a thing...if someone took notice of the magic on her and dispelled it, there would be questions...
Fyrman nodded, "Sounds good, here I'll pay for a month. If I don't stay that long we can square up when I return the key." he then hands over twelve gold. "Do you have someone who can show me where the place is?" Then he jumps in to Janie's conversation with the barkeep, "Haring huh? Sounds like fine sport and that looks to be a solid animal you've got there. I'd put a few gold on her. Name's Fyrman, Garick Fyrman, but everyone just calls me Fyrman. If you don't mind I'll join you for this Haring thing. If there's betting maybe I can make back some of the coin renting a room cost me."
He then scans the room looking for anyone who looks like they'd be in this new Army and casually asks the barkeep, "Anyways, are there any recruits here now? I'd like to talk to a few, get a feel for what their life is like. I'm not set on joining just yet, wanna understand what I'm getting into you know? And the recruiter isn't going to tell about the bar food or digging latreans, but the regular folks, they will. I don't expect it'll all be sunshine and roses, but I got a good gig going back home. I ain't gonna throw that away to join up if it ain't worth it."
The barkeep nods to Janus. "Certainly, good sir. I've heard that Baron Cust is holding a haring in the park tomorrow morning. If you show up, they should let you try for the prize. And betting on yourself is common. Now if you bet against yourself.. then folks might not take that too kindly." He chuckles. "But of course you weren't thinking of nothing like that."
To Garick, the bartender jerks his head to a corner where several young men in their mid-twenties are drinking and carousing loudly at a corner table. "Those are some new recruits, there. Got there first furlough, I'm betting. Based on how loud they're bein'." Five young men occupy the table, dressed in plain maroon tunics, laughing, drinking, and singing.
In an unfavorable position, Kazador strained. His muscles bulged as his arm went inexorably towards the table, until it finally hit as it was fated to do so. He threw his head back and let out a loud sigh. ”Harder than breaking stone! What do they feed the manlings round here?” After rolling his shoulder he added ”So what brings ye all here? Found some work needing those arms?”
"Great! I'll pay for a month up front," Melia says. "You mentioned a discount? What's the rate after that?"
When Matilda mentions the bookstore, Melia's eyes go wide. "A book store? As in, a whole store full of books? Oh, wow, Mom would be over the moon, we have to order books specially in Trostan and it takes forever for them to get there which makes Mom annoyed because she's mad for books, you know, especially poetry and old histories and stuff, but really anything is good. I'll have to visit this place and buy some books to send to her!"
The bulky farmer smiles broadly at his victory and collects a few coins he bet on himself. He shrugs "Naw not so much. I'm here to enjoy the town. Had to bring a load in to market and decided there was no need to hurry home. Name's James Taylor." He extends his hand to shake. "What's yer name? What are you doing here?"
Matilda smiles and explains "Well the normal 8 gets knocked down to 6 if you pay a week in advance. Tenants who pay cash in advance are always welcome."
Matilda chortles happily to herself when Melia bubbles over at the mention of a bookstore. "Yes, dearie. Full of books. To the ceiling, if you can believe. Go take a look! Alexander could certainly use the business."
There's a trace of sadness and even caution as Matilda states this last sentence more quietly.
"Oh?" Melia says, catching the undertone. "You think he needs something to brighten his day? I could bring him pastries! Sugar helps everything."
Kazador shrugged. ”Well met, James of Clan Taylor. I’ll let none say that men are weak now! Well, the city folk maybe. Feminine bunch it seems. Anyways. Friends call me Khaz. I...eh...reforge broken bodies. It’s me craft. Mostly patch up wounds after fights. But the underground is quiet now. The fighting is done. Not enough coin to be had to be worth staying.” It was all true, in a way. Part of his training had been on how to identify and treat wounds, including regular sickness. Before he had unlocked that power in his hammer it was the only way he could patch up after a fight. And indeed the tunnels of his people were quiet, the fighting being as over as their lives. He found that lying was easier when telling the truth.
”So I’m seeing what’s under the sun. Don’t know much. But I’m learning. Say, ‘fore ye leave, what’s there worth seeing around here?”
Matilda smiles to Melia. "What a fine idea. Wait one second." She returns to the kitchen then comes back and hands Melia a muffin. "Take that to him."
When Kazador talks about the weakness and femininity of city men, a large dockworker shoves folks aside to get a seat for himself. "Come now, Khaz. Let me prove your big mouth wrong!"
But it doesn't take Kazador much effort at all to slam the dockworkers hand to the table. Chuckles and murmurs of respect come from the onlookers. Several more city men line up now to defend their honor, a couple giving Khaz dirty looks but most just looking competitive.
While Khaz gets his arm ready for the next bout, Taylor is happy to make conversation while counting his winnings. When Khaz asks about what there is to do around here, his eyes shift from side to side as if to check for eavesdroppers then he leans over and whispers "Well I heard from a friend who was here a while back about a fighting ring. They keep it real quiet. Somewhere in the sewers. Ya can see a man fight a crocodile or something worse! Big bets too. I wanted to see it before I head back."
It doesn't seem like Taylor is all that sure about what he is talking about, since he is essentially a tourist looking for a big show. But he might be onto something.
"Sure! But I'll need directions. And could I maybe pay you the rent someplace less in public view? A girl shouldn't flaunt all her assets, you know," she says, tossing her hair.
Kazador nodded, understanding the man’s talk for what it was. Truth he was, he was simply enjoying himself. The competition was familiar to him, with the men acting much like any good Dwarven laborer would have. Granted, he was here now without the weight of title or expectation, but still, it was familiar. And it reinforced his belief system in what he was coming to call the ‘One Forge’ philosophy. The only thing missing was a cold brew, but avoiding that came down purely to his own will power.
As it was, he merely enjoyed himself, and eventually tried to instigate competition among the others. That way the night wouldn’t merely be about ‘beating the dwarf’ and would rather be one in which he could relax and be part of the group.
Matilda nods with a smile. "Certainly, certainly. Take a left when you leave here then go straight until you come to a sign with a sparkling tub, the Friendly Laundress. Turn right after that and keep walking until you see the sign of a book with a large A on it. That's Alexander's. As for an out of the way place to stay, that's no trouble at all. None of our lodging-places are particularly showy." She smiles fondly at her husband. "We're honest folk who work hard but we're not wealthy."
Before Khaz can relax, the group of men insist on at least one more bout. An average-sized man dressed in a plain grey tunic steps forward but the subtle grace and power of his movements and the excited chatter of the other men suggest more strength than his frame shows. He smiles and quietly asks "Care to place a bet, master dwarf?"
Fyrman nods to the innkeeper, "Thank you kindly. I think I'll go have a chat with them" then starts to walk toward the knot of men. "Don't you leave without me" Fyrman calls to Janus and he walks over his shoulder. When he reaches the soldier he puts on a smiling face and tries to interject himself 8nto the conversation. "Sargent Bog's is a real pain is he? See that's the kind of stuff they don't tell ya. When you sign up is it?" When he's caught their attention he introduces himself. "good to meet ya boys, I'm Fyrman. I'm new to the city, come to see what all this about the new Army and all is about, thinking about joining up you know? But afore I do, if I do that is, I wanna know the truth of it, not just the lines the recruiters feed ya. So I figure an insiders insight is what I need. How is life in this new army.? Is it had as good as their saying? How's the pay? What's the day to day like, you know?"