Chapter Zero: It will never be home
Skeerwick is home to many beings, but there is no doubt it is a human city. The largest of the districts, the common district, is full of narrow streets with ramshackle buildings that would fall over if they weren't so tightly packed against each other for support. When it is time for work, for those of the poor who have work, the poverty wracked section of the city's population move like cattle to the better districts where the jobs are. When the evening breaks, they'll have to turn back... for the better classes are happy for their sweat, but do not want to look upon them. For those with no employment, the district becomes something of a ghost town. The sick who can afford neither cleric nor apothecary cough and hack as they wander aimlessly through the common district hoping their illness offers at least meager protection from pickpockets and thugs. Children run, often shoeless, like feral animals in the street. Beggars find spots here and there to beg for their needs, no small amount of them feigning injury, the shame of their lies long burned away by hunger.
You do not live in this district.
The Craft District is almost tucked away behind the Merchant district. Both are where the jobs lay, and one could not exist without the other, but the craft district focuses on making the goods, and so cares less that the unwashed residents of the common district can be seen toiling openly, mostly as porters and unskilled laborers. By law, only a limited number of non humans can be employed as part of a 'humans first' policy set by the Lord Mayor, and those of your race who come here are given worried looks by the lowly who fear you come to take their jobs, and resentful glares by human craftsmen who fear their goods will be overshadowed by dwarven quality. That latter is less and less a fear, for many dwarves of the youngest generation have neglected the skills that served their sires' sires so well.
You do not live in this district.
The Merchants district is the "face" of the craft district as well as the center of all trade. It is here the coin exchanges hands, and the well dressed merchants make sure that any employees they have are either acceptable enough not to disturb a customer's delicate sensibilities or are out of sight entirely. The merchants of Skeerwick like to boast they sell anything and everything with a smile, but they cringe if one of your people should come in. The dwarven gift for appraisal and shrewdness means their boasting claims are too oft revealed as being as fake as their substandard goods. That doesn't cause many from trying to sell human knock offs as elven or even dwaren make. Some dwarves may live here, but the prices on the stalls and shops are outrageous as the "Humans First" policy extends even to the real estate taxes. Most dwarves who tried soon learned better and left again.
You do not live in this district.
The Golden District is where the wealthy live, and if it is any comfort, almost everyone who is not wealthy is snubbed, regardless of race. The government lays here also, each politician of the city doing quite well for himself at the ironically named House of Right Honorables. Some dwarf nobles were allowed to settle here when the refugees came. Grand manor houses were built by dwarves for them... and then years later, laws were passed, forcing those same proud dwarves out. Their magnificent lairs were immediately seized by envious human plutarchs. Some dwarves, a very few, are employed as a novelty, and the dwarves have a right to send one representative to a monthly town council, but said representative's voice is often ignored or drowned out by a majority who could care less for him or any complaints his people may have.
You do not live in this district.
Somewhere between the stink and misery of the Common District, and the upraised wall of the backside of the Craft district, there is another district. The oldest houses here are of fine stone, and the finest of those (prudentially built with the best part of them under the surface so not to inspire too much envy) are truly manors in their own right. The newer houses show the influence of the common district's poverty, more wore down, less stable.
The Dwarven language can be heard here, but the words now mix with human ones, and more and more of the younger, particularly the poorer dwarves, low clans, and clanless, abandon the language of their forefathers all together. Many of them emulate humans, some even going as far as to shave off beards to try to fit in with a city that seems determined to NEVER let them fit in. Yet there are still those who hold pride in their heart, even if they stave off bitter resentment against their 'human hosts' for the choices their government makes. Well, some stave it off. Some remind themselves that not all humans are like that, and many dwarves are truly indebted to this or that kind human or at least his ancestor for the help that was given out of kindness. But it is a hard truth to hold onto when crime rises, traditions are lost, and your race is mocked and sidelined.
This is Dwarf Town. If you live in Skeerwick at all, you live here. But it will never be home.
..................
An Elder Moot has been called, the first in quite awhile. Each High Clan will send one of their own honored elders to gather here in the half underground fort/palace known as Deephall. This might be only of mild interest to some dwarves, and an excuse to celebrate for others (For the people are in sore need of it), but for you, it is quite important. For you have each received summons, some by letter, some by direct commands, to present yourselves to the Moot and face the council of Elders themselves.
For they would have words with you.
But they're not ready for you, not yet. Any coming early to Deephall's doors are politely told that the elders have set the meeting hours from now. Find someway to pass your time.
And even in the slow decay that plagues Dwarf Town, there are ways to pass the time.
The Lost Pick Tavern appears to bustle as always. Dwarves enter in to drink their sorrows away, or warm themselves with tales of better days. Music can be heard and drifts out pleasantly, as does the smell of ale.
On another corner, a dwarven woman with little jewelry but garments made of fine and strong material calls out and gives a speech. Should you wish to listen, one has only to approach.
The hammering of a smith, a DWARVEN smith (And that means quality) comes from a local weapon shop.
And, not so far, one half crumbled stone dwelling, has dwarven women garishly dressed in a human style that bespeaks decadence and desperation both, faces painted but eyes vacant until one looks at them. Then they smile and their eyes light up as they promise any male who looks upon them delights and "A good time".
The choice of where to linger, and who to linger with, is yours.
Dolgrin walks into the tavern, and immediately regrets his decision upon seeing the dwarven women debasing themselves so. This is why the Dammerhall must be reclaimed.
Turning his back on the dwarven women prostituting themselves seems to only increase the volume of their solicitations, but blissfully soon Dolgrin finds that noise drowned out by the sounds of the tavern.
The Lost Pick resounds with idle chatter, the clinking and clanking of mugs of glass and metal, and, of course, there's the source of the music.
There's no denying she's beautiful, the singer has a high firm decolletage in a stylish 'peasant blouse' that makes a dwarven man long for the hills, rich brown tresses that spill over and behind her shoulders, and a skirt that shows glimpses of well toned legs here and there as she moves across the stage. Scandalous by some dwarf's standards, perhaps, but certainly more tasteful than the women who were vulgarly offering their bodies outside further down the street.
It is not just her beauty, but how the singer moves that could make the blood quicken. Her hips roll like with every easy glide, and she flashes her hair now and then like a banner of pride.
And her voice? Her voice is a throaty enticing instrument all its own. Dulcet tones pour out of her like smelted silver...
"Gold and silver delight a lass
Of that I shall not lie
but coin is cold, and loves me not.
There must be something else I can try.
Ale and stout, now that warms the skin
which is nice on cold hard nights
but it can't tell me I'm beautiful
or hold me close and tight...
The song speaks goes on, a ballad crafted to be a lament about a lady looking for a man in her life that provides all that things cannot. The performer winks now at then at this or that tavern goer, eliciting some wistful sighs, and some raised mugs.
Behind the bar, a one eyed, gray haired and balding bartender sees you, "Welcome to the Lost Pick, m'lord. We got ale, stout, whiskey, more. What would you like?"
Other dwarves, the ones not listening to the lady bard, talk among themselves.
Kragg slowly walks down the street looking at the dismal state the dwarven society has been reduced to. It pangs his heart to see the dilapidated buildings and the squalor of some of his race. The sight of the humanized dwarven women fills his with shame. Not shame for them as individuals because he could understand their plight, but shame at what they had to reduce themselves to in order to 'earn' money to buy the necessities of life.
Occassionally he would stop at near one of the downfallen, the luckless, the poor and say a kind word to them. The message was the same to all that would hear it. Keep heart and stay loyal to your family and clan. Together as a race we will yet thrive. Only by being united can we hope to overcome. Regardless of their reaction Kragg would offer them what he could, a drink of cool clear water and a bath. It wasnt much but it was what he could do at this time.
More often han not though the head would turn away rather than listen to what some 'old' dwarf wanted to say. The few that did listen would sometimes accept or not but very rarely would he get thanks for his efforts. It did not matter, they were all in this together and for many never knew that life could be better. That was the reason though that Kragg was here, to show them that you could further your life and prosper given a chance. Where was that chance? Kragg hoped that in a few short hours he would know. The moot was set to begin in that time and hopefully answers would be had and plans made to turn around the fate of the dwarves as a whole.
That he was politely turned away was not surprising. The elders must meet first to discuss weighty topics and once they have talked then would the others be allowed to partake. Thus was how his parents described it to him when they were alive and that is the way it still was today with the clan elders. In the meantime Kragg would do what he could for the others before stopping at the tavern for a small drink.
At the Lost Pick Kragg finds a more lively bunch of dwarves who were not so down on thier luck but still the tenor of the room was not as festive as he would have liked. There was talking and laughing and music but it seemed discordant with the reality outside.
Occassionally he would stop at near one of the downfallen, the luckless, the poor and say a kind word to them. The message was the same to all that would hear it. Keep heart and stay loyal to your family and clan. Together as a race we will yet thrive. Only by being united can we hope to overcome. Regardless of their reaction Kragg would offer them what he could, a drink of cool clear water and a bath. It wasnt much but it was what he could do at this time.More often than not though the head would turn away rather than listen to what some 'old' dwarf wanted to say. The few that did listen would sometimes accept or not but very rarely would he get thanks for his efforts. It did not matter, they were all in this together and for many never knew that life could be better. That was the reason though that Kragg was here, to show them that you could further your life and prosper given a chance. Where was that chance? Kragg hoped that in a few short hours he would know. The moot was set to begin in that time and hopefully answers would be had and plans made to turn around the fate of the dwarves as a whole.
Kragg does indeed find mixed reactions. A few, now with cups filled, rush off, perhaps to share the clean drink with their children, light booze or not, it's cleaner than their usual.
One or two recognize that he's a priest, and mutter "Thank you, good cleric."
But just as many mutter things about the gods having been quiet for a long time.
One dwarf lad's eyes grow huge as you give him a shower, and he almost dances in the rain you create. Proving that innocence and joy are not entirely lost, even here.
But how long would it take this city to smother the innocence in that child's eyes? No, there was hope for even the oppressed and down trodden, thus spoke Zuth's teachings, and Kragg knew it to be true.
At the Lost Pick Kragg finds a more lively bunch of dwarves who were not so down on thier luck but still the tenor of the room was not as festive as he would have liked. There was talking and laughing and music but it seemed discordant with the reality outside.
Of course, in a tavern, a priest of Zuth is considered especially lucky and some perk up even more. Other dwarves try to avoid eye contact,no doubt feeling a bit guilty for missing services.
Kragg sees the Bartender, Old Rel, who nods to him respectfully, "Be with you in a minute, good priest. Zuth clergy get their first drink free at the Lost Pick. Just don't take my best up front, is all I ask," He grins.
Thrilled with the innocence of life before him Kragg smiles at the lad glad that he could provide what he could for him. Digging into his pack he grabs some of the rations (2) he brought with him and gives it as well to the boy. Here you go lad. Share it with your family and tell them that times are changing for the better. It may be slow and deliberate but that is the way of the dwarves.
At the tavern...
Compared to most dwarves Kragg was a bit stockier in the belly than usual. Perhaps it was age catching up with him as he was past his prime and in his middle years. It could be from too many drinks as a fine flask hung from his hip and a large stein hung from the other. That there was strength still was noticable as he walked upright with a stright back if a bit slower than some. A warhammer and shield were strapped to his back along with all other forms of paraphernalia sticking out of his pack. The sight that attracted the most attention, and respect traditionally, was his white full beard and moustache. In good dwarven tradition Kragg kept it well braided and clean. On his brow, just under his cap, can be seen a strange looking birthmark of a warhammer and anvil.
At the sight of the beard the more respectful and younger dwarves moved aside to let Kragg enter the tavern. Seeing the garb of a priest of Zuth they move quicker to let him in. Finding a place to deposit his pack Kragg approaches the barkeep with a lighter step, figuratively and literally. Overhearing the grayin dwarf taking orders from the dwarf before him Kragg waits his turn before ordering himself, Just an ale to start with sir.
profession brewer to gage the quality
Dolgrin, his blonde beard shining bright, moves to sit at the bar. He has only a few golden pieces in his belt, but three are precious to him. These three are stamped with the Dwarven King Eodred Tarnhammer III on one side and the D rune on the other. Dwarven coinage for a dwarven tavern.
He slaps the three golden pieces down and says A round of Dwarven ale! Dwarven brew for Dwarves.
Dolgrin is dressed in utilitarian clothes that is finely made and embroidered with dwarven runes. It is plainly colored in red and brown. He is tall for a dwarf and well built, a testament to both his breeding and his travels. His hair is platinum blonde, like that of most Tarnhammers he knows. His beard, although not as long as some of the Elders, is still thick and is a source of immense pride for Dolgrin.
Dolgrin, his blonde beard shining bright, moves to sit at the bar. He has only a few golden pieces in his belt, but three are precious to him. These three are stamped with the Dwarven King Eodred Tarnhammer III on one side and the D rune on the other. Dwarven coinage for a dwarven tavern.
He slaps the three golden pieces down and says A round of Dwarven ale! Dwarven brew for Dwarves.
Old Rel, the bartender's grin grows even wider, "You'll be a popular man here, m'lord!" He hands you a mug of rich dwarven ale
And indeed, a round of cheers drowns out the singer entirely, though she looks amused at that more than offended, and decides to take her break, slipping off the small stage and into the crowd and near the bar where the newcomers are.
At the sight of the beard the more respectful and younger dwarves moved aside to let Kragg enter the tavern. Seeing the garb of a priest of Zuth they move quicker to let him in. Finding a place to deposit his pack Kragg approaches the barkeep with a lighter step, figuratively and literally. Overhearing the grayin dwarf taking orders from the dwarf before him Kragg waits his turn before ordering himself, Just an ale to start with sir.
"Aye, looks like your first is on this fine young fellow more than me, good priest." Old Rel says with a smile, "And no 'sir' needed. Relnar Sweetore, at your service tonight. Old Rel, they call me."
Kragg, you taste the ale and find it is an honest ale indeed. No watering down here. You have had, and made, better, but this is still good quality stuff with a slightly smokey flavor to it that is not displeasing at all. A relief, for in many a tavern, Zuth's pride does not shine. Here, it is obvious, it does.
"Here's yours, Thoda," The bartender says, and hands a mug to her, "Enjoy your break thanks to this fine Tarnhammer here."
Perhaps it is Dolgrin's looks, perhaps the Bartender is merely in the know, but it's clear he knows Dolgrin's clan just by a glance.
Thoda flashes a lovely smile at Dolgrin, then turns to the crowd "To the Tarnhammers! Better times for them, for they bring better times for us!"
"Hear hear!" Many say, and it is obvious Dolgrin's simple act has caused folks to think the best of his clan, even if it's only for the night.
Kragg takes the ale offered to him and raises it up with the rest in toast of the dwarf close by. Upon tasting it a Kragg stands and praises Old Rel mightily. May Zuth continue to bless you and your establishment. I do declare that this is the best ale I have had in a tavern for quite some time and I have travelled to many a tavern. As for calling you Old Rel, well I am not so sure I should be calling anyone 'old' as most call me that. If you insist though I will not refuse such a request from a dwarf of such standing as yours when the ale is this good.
Kragg watches the room to see how everyone reacts to the round of beers and thinks of those in the streets who were not so blessed to be inside right now. Surely they all heard the raucous cry and longed to join in the revelry. Yet how could they when they could not afford basic drink and food. This young Tarnhammer could woo the crowd and celebrate with them gaining popularity and fame yet where was the relief for those that needed it the most. Perhaps some day when his beard was a bit longer he would recognize the need to bring lasting cheer to all dwarves, not just those that would clap him on his back for an ale.
As Kragg was one of the first to be served, as was customary being a clergy member of Zuth, he was finished by the time Old Rel was done drawing up the ale for the rest of the room. Waving Old Rel over for his second mug, he whispers to the barkeep, If you would do me a favor Old Rel, gather as much simple fare as 2 gold would get and set it out front so that those less fortunate make enjoy as well. Dont' tell anyone where it is coming from please. I will pay for it myself. There is nothing more disheartening than watching and hearing others celebrate when you yourself can not. I will go and sit outside to disperse the merriment there as well so none of your staff need to do it.
Assuming Rel does as asked Kragg will pay the 2 gp and slide next to the young Tarnhammer while the food is being gathered. That was quite a display there young man. Playing to the crowd is great and even I thank you for the drink. Yet what is the point of it? Why make such a show? Kragg is really trying to understand the reasons for the action and not be too hard on the young dwarf.
It is a great day for Dwarves. The first Moot in nearly a hundred years. Dolgrin responds with a smile. He truly is in good spirits for the first time in a while. When else have we had reason to celebrate?
Old Rel takes the praise Kragg offers with a smile, and when the cleric whispers his generous plan for the folks outside, the tavernkeep nods "Consider it done."
It is a great day for Dwarves. The first Moot in nearly a hundred years. Dolgrin responds with a smile. He truly is in good spirits for the first time in a while. When else have we had reason to celebrate?
Kragg nods his head at the confirmation he hears in the young dwarf's voice. Indeed, it is a rare occasion for the different clan elders to call a moot. In fact this is only the second time that I can remember such an occasion. With little else for the common dwarf to celebrate this marks the highlight for them.
Would you let me pass on some wisdom to you my lad? These people here will praise your name and give you glory should you earn it or pay for it. Yet there are other dwarves who pray nightly that this moot is a sign of better days. These people are not heard and are seldom truly seen by the powerful, but it is they who are in need of the moot more than the rest. It is for them that I have come to hear what transpires at the moot. Give me 10 minutes of your time lad and you will see who I mean. Then the joy that you have will hopefully overflow to them and give them hope.
That is what they need at this time more than anything is hope. There are a few of us that do what we can with what we have but it is never enough as long as dwarves are not given an equal chance. We need to tell them that there is once again that chance, if you truly believe it to be true that is. Grabbing the bag delivered to him Kragg stands from his seat to head out the door. Would you care to join me outside?
Hannarr strolls through the crafter's district on his way to dwarftown. taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling street and blithely ignoring the sidelong glances and muttered comments that passed in his wake. He wrinkled his nose at the close press of humanity. Well, Skeerwick smells the same since last I was here, he thinks.
The summons from his uncle had been quite a surprise. He had done his best to distance himself from his clan these past decades when he realized they had not the stomach to help him search for his missing kin, and they from him when they realized he would not follow in their staid and honoured footsteps. His last exchange with his uncle, the most noble Lord Diamondheart, could not have been described as staid and honourable.
He had also not returned to Dwarftown very often since then. The place reminded him too much of what had been lost. When he looked about he saw only defeat and resignation - a folk content to soak their defeats and fears and sorrows in the glory of their fathers; a folk too eager to place their woes at the feet of the humans than stand up and reclaim that same lost glory for themselves. History was a living thing. A thing that needed new pages constantly written else it wither and die. Say what you will about the humans. Hannarr thought, They do write their own history large upon the world
The laughter of children made him look u from his reverie. At some point he had wandered into Dwarftown. An old priest conjured a shower of water to the delight of some street urchins. He smiled at their delight. Farther on a woman prosetelizes to the crowd. Ever curious Hannar moves closer to hear.
You move to the woman talking to the crowd.
The crowd consists of what some would call the middle class of Dwarftown, or at least those who have a bit of coin. A few are wealthier or higher placed, but none as highly born as the speaker herself.
She stands on a crate so they can see her better. You recognize her instantly. Steola Stonegate is dressed in fine but sturdy clothing with little jewelry upon her. While the stern way she wears her hair cannot hide the fact that she is a pretty dwarf, it is not her looks that make her one of the most sought after bachelorettes in the dwarven community, but rather her rank, blood, and the honors and wealth that might go with it to the lucky fellow to win her hand.
You know thus far, she has dismissed all suitors claiming she is too busy to wed, and has little interest. Yet you also have heard rumors that she's under increasing pressure from Stonegate Clan elders to do just that. She can only hold out so long.
As you hear her talk, you realize that the subject of her marital state has nothing to do with why she's here tonight...
"We're all cut from the same stone of the world," She motions emphatically, "We're all of us, rich and poor, high clan, low clan, and even no clan... DWARVES! Ardwal wants us to treat each other with honor, to aid each other, but this is not just on the battlefield. Please, I beg you, spare your linens, any clean rags that can be used for bandages, and yes, if you can swing it, coins! These can be used to help the sick among us who have no one to turn to, the elderly who have no living grandsons and daughters, and yes, the poor who can barely feed their children. We all lament what dwarves have lost, some feel we'll never have it again, but that does not excuse us turning our backs on each other as lost and as if we can do nothing!"
"Easy to be preachy for a High Clan girl" one dwarven woman of a lower clan mutters to a friend during the speech. Her friend nods.
You can't be sure if Steola heard (or cares if she did) about the comment, as she continues on her course, "Maybe we all can't be seeking lost relics of our ancestors, but if you help a fellow dwarf, you ARE, in a way, saving what truly remains of them- Us! Each and everyone of us, we are their legacy. And we should treasure each other for that, and keep each other close and well, or we shame our true heritage. I ask not for much, but there is so much so many require just to live. Help me help them, I beg you."
Some grudgingly put copper down in a bucket near the crate. Others take off a cloak or even already brought linen.
But mostly there are blank faces, and cynical grumblings.
"I thought the Stonegates were the quiet ones," One fellow heckles from the back.
Steola can't help but hear that one, "Yes," She retorts, "I'm a talker as well as a doer, rare in my clan. Donate a copper per word I say, and the starving might have dinner tonight but if you seek to silence me, well, you likely couldn't afford it, sirrah!"
There is some laughter at that, and a few more coins, human pennies, fall into the bucket.
Dolgrin's smile fades Where are you going? he says to the older dwarf You would have me walk the streets dispensing pennies to beggars?
Hannar drops a couple of silvers in the pot and calls back, You do good work here Lady Stonegate, and this will feed needy mouths today. But what of tomorrow?
Dolgrin's smile fades Where are you going? he says to the older dwarf You would have me walk the streets dispensing pennies to beggars?
No, Kragg calls back to him. I would have you extend the same generosity to everyone regardless of stature. I am going out to spread the cheer that you have started. They need it more there than those here. You are welcome to join me or stay inside.
Kragg makes a show of stooping a bit under the bag of food not at all abashed by trying to guilt the young dwarf to helping. After all it does not matter how he gets the help and point across as long as the message is recieved.
Hannar drops a couple of silvers in the pot and calls back, You do good work here Lady Stonegate, and this will feed needy mouths today. But what of tomorrow?
"Hannarr? Professor Diamondheart, is that you?" She says, turning your way as she notices you pouring a few silver into the bucket, "Thank you for the help. But as to tomorrow?? I don't rightly know. I'm no warrior, but I know a good one doesn't surrender in the first battle just because he doesn't know how the war will end."
Some of the better off male dwarves in the crowd, and there are not many of them, give you a resentful look. It occurs to you they may think you're here less to be generous, and more to try to woo Steola... in short, some see you as a rival.
The noble lady continues, "But if you have ideas to better our lot, see me later on after this good crowd and bend my ear if you like. I'm not too proud to listen...usually." She adds as a slight nod to her fault
It's been two weeks since the notice arrived for the Elder Moot, the first one in most of the dwarves memory here in Dwarf Town. Ulfgar had spent the morning cleaning his weapons and oiling his armor. While he comes from one of the old High Clans and can afford to have someone else do the work he gets great satisfaction out of keeping his hands busy and maintaining his own equipment. As a matter of fact this morning he'd found a worn strap so he was going by the smithy to see Dari.
On the way through the quarter, he spots Steola Stonegate speaking passionately on the corner to a middling sized group of dwarves. He nods his head at her as he passes by, admiring her determination to take care of those less fortunate than herself; while running full speed from the 'noose' of marriage she sees closing in. Chuckling, he continues on, checking the small group of widows he trys to make sure have something to eat each week. At each, he stops and whispers a few encouraging words and shares a smile with them. Asking about any children they have and whether there is anything he can do to make things easier for them.
During his rounds, he will notice the women debasing themselves in front of the crumbled down building, not necessarily looking at the women themselves but for Korum. That weasel would be the reason they were out on the street making a scene. "One day, one day Korum. Someone will give you the beating you deserve."
Later, he would need to drop by the Lost Pick Tavern to check on Old Del and Thoda, he could listen to that girl sing all night long. And Old Del had shared many a story over a round or two of mead and during the winter's cold applejack.
The sounds of a hammer ring in the air as cold iron molds and shapes hot steel upon the anvil. "Ho Dari, have you got a minute? I need to talk to you about another strap for my armor and that brace of knives I had inquired about earlier?"
No, Kragg calls back to him. I would have you extend the same generosity to everyone regardless of stature. I am going out to spread the cheer that you have started. They need it more there than those here. You are welcome to join me or stay inside.Kragg makes a show of stooping a bit under the bag of food not at all abashed by trying to guilt the young dwarf to helping. After all it does not matter how he gets the help and point across as long as the message is recieved.
Dolgrin frowns at the elder dwarf, but won't refuse him. Your efforts help, but they do not solve the larger problem. Why do you think we have fallen so low? the younger man asks while helping the older dwarf carry the load.
With plans to visit Old Rel later, Ulfgar doesn't so much SEE Korum near that half crumbling building as feel his presence.
The Smithy has a different feel entirely, a merry ringing of anvil and hammer, a wash of heat from the forge, and a genuine feeling of family comes over you, for you've spent some time here when younger.
The sounds of a hammer ring in the air as cold iron molds and shapes hot steel upon the anvil. "Ho Dari, have you got a minute? I need to talk to you about another strap for my armor and that brace of knives I had inquired about earlier?"
"A moment, Kinsman, and I'll be right with you," Dori appears to be finishing with on one of the very daggers you commissioned, "There we go," She grins triumphantly, her high ponytail (The better to keep the hair out of her way) bouncing as she does so. She dresses in a smith's garb now, though you know she prefers chain when she can. That's not often right now, with her father's condition. Still, her smile to see you is genuine, "Funny you should come in asking. I'm almost done with the first set. Now what's this about a strap?"
Dari slaps your armor, seeing which way it moves and if something is catching.
Kragg and Dolgrin, you both come to see Old Rel has put it upon himself to bring a few out himself instead of having an assistant do it. Perhaps out of kindness, perhaps hoping to earn good reputation... very likely both.
"Good priest, you sure you don't want the credit for this? Might help the increase the number of butts in the pews."
Kragg is glad for the assistance carrying the load even though he has not stooped to decrepancy in such a degree tht he needs it. He is even more impressed by the question that this las posed him. There is hope with this one possibly. A chance for the next generation to see beyond their noses and improve the situation.
That is an excellent question and one not easily answered. If it the fault of the dwarves as a whole for declining after the loss of our ancestral home? Is it the individual dwarf's fault for not doing more on an individual basis? Is it the fault of the human society we live in that seems to look down on us? Are we wallowing in pity when we should be striding forward to shape our future? The answer is all of these things combined yet personally I have my own concrete answer.
Dwarves have lost what it means to be dwarves. It is as simple as that. Most dwarves have, including myself, have never seen the splendor and accomplishments that we could accomplish in our prime. We need to find ourselves again. Some think that we need to reclaim Dammerhall again. I think this is half true. We need to find what Dammerhall represents, the best of the Dwarven race and the bright hope for the future.
Kragg and Dolgrin, you both come to see Old Rel has put it upon himself to bring a few out himself instead of having an assistant do it. Perhaps out of kindness, perhaps hoping to earn good reputation... very likely both.
"Good priest, you sure you don't want the credit for this? Might help the increase the number of butts in the pews."
Thank you Old Rel for the help but no I do not want the credit for this directly. Instead say some patron has asked to share the merriment of those inside with those outside. The cause for jubilation is the upcoming moot and the hope for better days for dwarvenkind. That is the truth anyways, why muddle it up with individuals. One more favor if I could ask you? Do you have an empty barrel I could use? Food such as this would go better with something to drink.
Looking to see if Old Rel was puzzeled by the request for an empty barrel Kragg repeats himself. Yes please, an empty barrel but one that cans till hold liquid securely..
Modnar wanders the cobbles of Dwarf Town with a bemused expression on his face. By the Powers, how long has it been since I have walked these streets? I really do spend too much time in Stonespire.
He hears the sounds of revelry from the Lost Pick and passes by without a glance. He knows full well how uneasy his beardless chin and wizard's garb make the typical dwarf on the street. Besides that, Modnar wants to keep his mind focused on the upcoming Moot.
"Father used to say that working the forge kept his mind sharp. Why not?" Modnar turns toward the sound of the smithy, but he realizes that his not-so-inner monologue attracted the attention of a few children. He smiles slightly, then makes a few gestures while speaking a strange language.
"គ្រាប់បាល់នៃពន្លឺលេចឡើង"
Four orbs of pale white light appear around Modnar's head and dart about the area, zipping around alleys and orbiting each child's head in turn.
"Oh Dari, that is beautiful" Jarreck says admiring the lines of the dagger and the work she's done incorporating the family runes into the handles.
"Your father has taught you well, the temper line looks like the blade is wreathed in a cold flame. And the family crest is just about perfect. The only thing it's missing is the other one." This last said with a teasing smile.
"If only the other artisans would allow you a spot in the Merchant or Craft district. Your Da would have no worries for your future."
[b]"The strap here on the side. the buckle on it has started to open up a bit and is not holding tight anymore. Can you adjust it a bit, besides it wouldn't do to have any openings when we spar. I have enough bruises without adding extra holes in my defense."[/b}
They have been sparing as long as either of them can remember. Dari's father always felt that to design a weapon and truly make it your best product, you had to know how to use it. A fighter needs to know that the weight is not too heavy on the end forcing him to expend unnecessary effort to arrest it's travel and reverse the swing. What better way to do this than to intimately know how to use the weapons you create.
That is an excellent question and one not easily answered. If it the fault of the dwarves as a whole for declining after the loss of our ancestral home? Is it the individual dwarf's fault for not doing more on an individual basis? Is it the fault of the human society we live in that seems to look down on us? Are we wallowing in pity when we should be striding forward to shape our future? The answer is all of these things combined yet personally I have my own concrete answer.
Dwarves have lost what it means to be dwarves. It is as simple as that. Most dwarves have, including myself, have never seen the splendor and accomplishments that we could accomplish in our prime. We need to find ourselves again. Some think that we need to reclaim Dammerhall again. I think this is half true. We need to find what Dammerhall represents, the best of the Dwarven race and the bright hope for the future.
Dolgrin walks outside with the Elder dwarf, Indeed. We must remember or be forced to remember what it means to be a dwarf. Dammerhall is who we are, it is our greatest glory. Dolgrin sets down the heavy sack for the dwarf and says I've not properly introduced myself. My name is Dolgrin Tarnhammer.
"Thank you Old Rel for the help but no I do not want the credit for this directly. Instead say some patron has asked to share the merriment of those inside with those outside. The cause for jubilation is the upcoming moot and the hope for better days for dwarvenkind. That is the truth anyways, why muddle it up with individuals. One more favor if I could ask you? Do you have an empty barrel I could use? Food such as this would go better with something to drink.
Rel raises a brow at the mention of an empty one...
Looking to see if Old Rel was puzzeled by the request for an empty barrel Kragg repeats himself. Yes please, an empty barrel but one that cans till hold liquid securely..
"Finding an EMPTY one is rarely a problem," He chuckles and goes inside. In little time at all, he comes back with what you require.
Dolgrin walks outside with the Elder dwarf, Indeed. We must remember or be forced to remember what it means to be a dwarf. Dammerhall is who we are, it is our greatest glory. Dolgrin sets down the heavy sack for the dwarf and says I've not properly introduced myself. My name is Dolgrin Tarnhammer.
Rel looks at you both, not deaf to the conversation, "Dammmerhall... well, I'm no noble nor man of a god's favor, but if you want a common dwarf's opinion, it scares me fierce that some of the younger dwarves seems to prefer human wines and barely speak their own father's language."
He also adds, looking at Kragg, "Whenever you're ready, good sir, I'll announce to the crowd some patron has made a generousness and anonymous gifting."
He hears the sounds of revelry from the Lost Pick and passes by without a glance. He knows full well how uneasy his beardless chin and wizard's garb make the typical dwarf on the street. Besides that, Modnar wants to keep his mind focused on the upcoming Moot.
"Father used to say that working the forge kept his mind sharp. Why not?" Modnar turns toward the sound of the smithy, but he realizes that his not-so-inner monologue attracted the attention of a few children. He smiles slightly, then makes a few gestures while speaking a strange language.
"គ្រាប់បាល់នៃពន្លឺលេចឡើង"
** spoiler omitted **
Four orbs of pale white light appear around Modnar's head and dart about the area, zipping around alleys and orbiting each child's head in turn.
Indeed, some children were following him. One girl, who perked up at the word 'forge', has her jaw drop at the sight. One young lad, better dressed than the others mutters, "That's amazin' I thought only humans could do magic."
The second girl tries to catch the orb about her with a pretty good leap.
But it is the fourth and final child, another lad, who is wearing rags, that catches your attention. For is so caught off guard by the orb, that he yanks his hand too fast, and some coins fall from you...
the young would be pickpocket exposed.
"Oh Dari, that is beautiful" Ulfgar says admiring the lines of the dagger and the work she's done incorporating the family runes into the handles.
"Your father has taught you well, the temper line looks like the blade is wreathed in a cold flame. And the family crest is just about perfect. The only thing it's missing is the other one." This last said with a teasing smile.
"Ha! Keep your britches on," She grins back.
"If only the other artisans would allow you a spot in the Merchant or Craft district. Your Da would have no worries for your future."
"Bah... I might get a spot, but they'd liable force even more costs on me, more taxes and such, that I couldn't make much of a profit there either. At least here I am liable to work for my fellow dwarves. Though I did have a human warrioress sneak in and commission a sword. Going on a big adventure soon," Dari says wistfully.
"The strap here on the side. the buckle on it has started to open up a bit and is not holding tight anymore. Can you adjust it a bit, besides it wouldn't do to have any openings when we spar. I have enough bruises without adding extra holes in my defense."
"True, true..." Her wistfulness vanishes at the mention of sparring, which makes her smile again"I can fix that up in the blink of a dragon's eye, buckles are easy and I got a dozen of them. No charge, seeing as you're paying so handsome for the weapons. Are you complaining about bruises now? Tch, and here I thought you were a tough one" She teases lightly, but she fetches the buckle immediately.
Through a window, Ulfgar can see Dari's father sitting in a chair. Dwarves are stubbornly resistant to disease compared to weedier races, but no mortal is invulnerable, and while not contagious, it is genuinely accepted that the old smith will not likely last long. A great warrior once himself as well as mater smith, the old man gives a nod through the hazy glass to Ulfgar, before his gaze drifts off, dream like, as if he were looking very far away, searching for something lost.
Are you complaining about bruises now? Tch, and here I thought you were a tough one
Ulgar staters for a moment in mock indignation and hurt before he burst out laughing "Aye girl, I'm complaining. you near to broke my ribs. That backswing of your is mean, felt like I got swatted by a cave bear. Might be the last time we spar with hammers for a while. Your better than I am these days!" He finishes with a grin.
Noticing her father through the window, he nods back to the old timer. I am scared that one day that will be me. A dwarf should die gloriously in battle or surrounded by a strong clan during old age; not waste away on the porch in some human town
"Dari, how's your dad these days? Has he been able to help any at all?......" Unable to continue, Ulfgar, a ranger and protector of this settlement, who would gladly take on hill trolls and other fell creatures who prey on the travellors coming to town; doesn't know how to process his feelings concerning getting old. The thought of that truly scares him.
Trying to move to a happier topic, "Dari, what have you heard about the Elder Moot?"
Ulgar staters for a moment in mock indignation and hurt before he burst out laughing "Aye girl, I'm complaining. you near to broke my ribs. That backswing of your is mean, felt like I got swatted by a cave bear. Might be the last time we spar with hammers for a while. Your better than I am these days!" He finishes with a grin.
At that, she's genuinely pleased, "I won't lower my prices just because you say nice things...and don't be so quick to pass yourself as bronze when you're steel. Your damn good, and a warrior as well as a fine scout too boot. Do the clan proud you do."
"Dari, how's your dad these days? Has he been able to help any at all?......" Unable to continue, Ulfgar, ranger and protector of this settlement will gladly take on hill trolls and other fell creatures who prey on the travellors coming to town; doesn't know how to process his feelings concerning getting old. The thought of that truly scares him.
"Ah, da. He still helps, still has a master's touch and all, but he can't keep the pace as long as he used to. The clerics say there's naught they can do, that the past illnesses have taken too much from him. Still, he does now and then, and I still turn to him for advice on this piece or that. I'm want to make him proud, but I'll not be daft enough to ignore his knowledge hard earned when I'm stuck."
Trying to a happier topic, "Dari, what have you heard about the Elder Moot?"
Dari yanks at her pony tail, a nervous habit, "I know one's been called, of course, most do. Unfortunately, it seems them of the lower clans don't care much. Da says it used to be a time of celebration. Now, those not of the High Clans seem to treat it as just another day. Makes me sad. Still, Dragonbone family comes by, and other High Clan types pop up ...more in the last week than I've seen in a long time, to tell true. They're a bit more abuzz. Elders have discovered something, they say. Something important enough that the council is arguing fierce about the whos, whats, and hows things are to be done. Some say they're thinking of taking us to another human city, but sounds like balderdash to me. What good would it do? Skeerwick maybe sour, but why travel a hundred miles with nothing just to hope the next human town is better?"
Summons...
The shorter, unusually slender, (particularly for an ax fighter, as the killing edge strapped across the figure's back would attest), cloaked & cowled form stands before the guards at the Deephall. Holding up the vellum page like some talisman, the dwarf declaims. "I'm summoned to be here. Why? I'm no-one of note, just a deep delver. It's pure luck this summons even caught me at all." Sighing gruffly in aggravation at the guards stoic refusal to elucidate beyond 'not yet' the figure turns to view the other occupants of the street. The 'fallen sisters' and the tavern each drawing lingering stares for entirely different reasons, the dwarf instead strides toward the sounds of steel striking against steel. "Balance is off on m'ax." The figure calls out by way of an explanation as the weapon is set upon the display counter. "D'n't feel quite right no more. How much ta 'true' it?"
"Some say they're thinking of taking us to another human city, but sounds like balderdash to me. What good would it do? Skeerwick maybe sour, but why travel a hundred miles with nothing just to hope the next human town is better?"
"On the point of going to a new human town being pointless I fear you are correct. While there are humans that I would count easily as a friend, Eric and Christopher Snow, the watch-captain; most in this town want nothing more from dwarves than the fruits of their labor and the gold in their pockets. We'll never be an equal here with the humans that run everything."
Wanting to see what what Dari knew, or had heard from her customers; being more fully the truth. Ulfgar nodded at the customer coming in the shop.
"Balance is off on m'ax." The figure calls out by way of an explanation as the weapon is set upon the display counter. "D'n't feel quite right no more. How much ta 'true' it?"
"Welcome stranger, you could not have done better stopping in this shop and much worse had you went to the craftsman's quarter. Dari, here'll set your axe to rights, ne'er you worry. I just suggest not taking her on in a sparring match to test it out."
Affecting a limp and holding his sore ribs, Ulfgar limps towards the door a few steps before straightening out and letting out a hearty laugh. Leaving the girls in the shop to talk business and whistling a jaunty tune as he crosses to the Lost Pick.
Entering the tavern, he moves to speak to Old Rel. Always trying to keep an eye on things happening in the quarter but allowing people to make their own decisions.
"Old Rel, friend, a tankard, please. A great many new faces are in town today, business for you is well I hope."
The shorter, unusually slender, (particularly for an ax fighter, as the killing edge strapped across the figure's back would attest), cloaked & cowled form stands before the guards at the Deephall. Holding up the vellum page like some talisman, the dwarf declaims. "I'm summoned to be here. Why? I'm no-one of note, just a deep delver. It's pure luck this summons even caught me at all." Sighing gruffly in aggravation at the guards stoic refusal to elucidate beyond 'not yet' the figure turns to view the other occupants of the street.
The guards were indeed stoic and tight lipped, even compared to other dwarves. Anka thinks she hears one mutter behind her back about how beards are falling out of fashion for the younger generation due to human influence. That, at least, works to her advantage for her ruse even if it will rile some traditionalists as any beardless male would.
She also hears part of the conversation as she comes to the smithy area...
"On the point of going to a new human town being pointless I fear you are correct. While there are humans that I would count easily as a friend, Eric and Christopher Snow, the watch-captain; most in this town want nothing more from dwarves than the fruits of their labor and the gold in their pockets. We'll never be an equal here with the humans that run everything."
"Ain't that the truth, their fathers and grandfathers weren't near as spiteful and greedy as this lot, not that they were ever angels," Dari says as the subject of the human politicians comes up. Sensing, perhaps, Ulfgar is fishing for a bit more, Dari adds, "But the reason for the moot is hardly clear to me or anyone else. Talk of summons, but who? Darned if I know... had a customer claiming a few priests had some omens, but they're tight lipped too if that's the case because neither of the temples has proclaimed anything I've.."
She turns to see a customer, "Oops, pardon, business calls. Welcome to the best smithy in Skeerwick. How can I help you?"
]
"Balance is off on m'ax." The figure calls out by way of an explanation as the weapon is set upon the display counter. "D'n't feel quite right no more. How much ta 'true' it?"
Moving to it, Dari gives it a heave and test, "mmmm, Not much, it's a good axe, it just needs a little touching up again." She names a fair price.
"Welcome stranger, you could not have done better stopping in this shop and much worse had you went to the craftsman's quarter. Dari, here'll set your axe to rights, ne'er you worry. I just suggest not taking her on in a sparring match to test it out."
"Ha! Be well, Ulfgar," Dari says as you leave, and turns back to Anka "He's a good kinsman to have in a fight and in a chat. Going far, you mind me. So, you hear of the Elder Moot? First one in a century."
........
On his way to go in, Ulfgar realizes he's about to walk past Old Rel who is NOT in the tavern, but out front with several barrels.
Old Rel nods to Ulfgar as he comes up, barrels positioned.
"Hannarr? Professor Diamondheart, is that you?" She says, turning your way as she notices you pouring a few silver into the bucket, "Thank you for the help. But as to tomorrow?? I don't rightly know. I'm no warrior, but I know a good one doesn't surrender in the first battle just because he doesn't know how the war will end."
The noble lady continues, "But if you have ideas to better our lot, see me later on after this good crowd and bend my ear if you like. I'm not too proud to listen...usually." She adds as a slight nod to her fault
Wise words m'lady, and bravely spoken. I will be sure to look for you afterwards... at the moot perhaps?
Checking the sun for the time, Hannarr heads over to the Lost Pick to kill the hour or two before his summons and fill his belly. never enter the unknown on an empty stomach! Whether one is entering a goblin infested lost hold or a political scrum of judgemental family members, good advice either way.
A crowd was gathering at the entrance to the tavern. The old dwarf he had spied earlier was maneuvering a barrel into position. Hannarr tipped his wide brimmed hat to him and side stepped the curious onlookers to enter the building. Many of the tap room's patrons were also moving to the front, which made it easy for Hannarr to find a stool at the bar. A meal and a drink please barkeep! Uh, hello? Hannarr cranes his neck, looking up and down the length of the bar for a bartender or waitress. He leans over to the younf dwarf beside him, a Dragonbone judging by the chestnut hair and distinctive cheekbones. How'd you get that drink? Does anybody work here?
But it is the fourth and final child, another lad, who is wearing rags, that catches your attention. For is so caught off guard by the orb, that he yanks his hand too fast, and some coins fall from you...
the young would be pickpocket exposed.
The dancing lights wink out as Modnar's head whips toward the waifish cutpurse. The wizard's eyes narrow as he says, "Coins are to be earned, not taken." His face softens, however, at the sight of the suddenly terrified child's sunken cheeks and tattered clothes.
"This, I think, will do for gainful work. Take one of the coins to the street preacher; the other is your courier's fee. I would know those with whom I do business. What is your name?"
Kragg directs the empty barrel to be moved just to the right of the food that was being brought out. standing over it he starts to whisper a prayer to Zuth. As the prayer continues on he gets a bit louder. Father Zuth accept this prayer from one of your chosen. We are here to celebrate all dwarves and the future you have for us. In this time we have cause to celebrate what hasn't happened in a hundred years. Bless this future gathering and show us your blessing.
As Kragg finishes those nearest can see a brief flash of light from his brow but with him bending over the keg it was impossible to tell from where. As Kragg stands up the keg begins to fill with liquid.
Kragg looks at Old Rel with a twinkle in his eyes. We are now ready to celebrate. Zuth has blessed us indeed.
Dolgrim, is it? Strong name Tarnhammer. Let us now share the good spirit with everyone. This is your blessing to everyone so please join in to help serve. I am Kragg Stoneheart.
Kragg then helps to serve the liquid while he lets Dolgrim and Old Rel serve the food. Those that take the drink offered find it to be a weak alcoholic beverage. Poor fare by tavern standards, it is still alcohol to help wash down the food and cause for celebration.
Thinking it would take 3 castings to fill the keg up properly. That is 6 gallons of the weakest ale. 3/7 used then.
Wise words m'lady, and bravely spoken. I will be sure to look for you afterwards... at the moot perhaps?
"Agreed," She nods briskly, "And thank you for helping."
More glares go Hannarr's way as he has arranged a meeting with the normally hard to pin down bachelorette.A crowd was gathering at the entrance to the tavern. The old dwarf he had spied earlier was maneuvering a barrel into position. Hannarr tipped his wide brimmed hat to him and side stepped the curious onlookers to enter the building. Many of the tap room's patrons were also moving to the front, which made it easy for Hannarr to find a stool at the bar. A meal and a drink please barkeep! Uh, hello? Hannarr cranes his neck, looking up and down the length of the bar for a bartender or waitress. He leans over to the younf dwarf beside him, a Dragonbone judging by the chestnut hair and distinctive cheekbones. How'd you get that drink? Does anybody work here?
Thoda laughs, then apologizes, "I shouldn't laugh, a waitress will likely be with you shortly, but apparently old Rel is going to be giving a lot of drink out... one round got bought in here, and that started it out there. Folks even lost interest in ME, which can be rough on a lady entertainer I assure you. Seems this Moot is being more productive than I thought if a party is about to break out in the street. Here, I work here, not as a waitress, but it should make this okay..." she grabs a mug and fills it from the tap for you. "I'm Thoda by the way." You notice she gives no clan.
The dancing lights wink out as Modnar's head whips toward the waifish cutpurse. The wizard's eyes narrow as he says, "Coins are to be earned, not taken." His face softens, however, at the sight of the suddenly terrified child's sunken cheeks and tattered clothes."This, I think, will do for gainful work. Take one of the coins to the street preacher; the other is your courier's fee. I would know those with whom I do business. What is your name?"
"Lok, sir. No clan, I ain't nobody," the boy answers, face full of shame but he takes the coins. He barely speaks dwarvish by the sound of it. "Thanks for not turning me into the watch."
Kragg directs the empty barrel to be moved just to the right of the food that was being brought out. standing over it he starts to whisper a prayer to Zuth. As the prayer continues on he gets a bit louder. Father Zuth accept this prayer from one of your chosen. We are here to celebrate all dwarves and the future you have for us. In this time we have cause to celebrate what hasn't happened in a hundred years. Bless this future gathering and show us your blessing.
As Kragg finishes those nearest can see a brief flash of light from his brow but with him bending over the keg it was impossible to tell from where. As Kragg stands up the keg begins to fill with liquid.
Kragg looks at Old Rel with a twinkle in his eyes. We are now ready to celebrate. Zuth has blessed us indeed.
Kragg's voice starts soft, but soon gains in volume, and even those still in the Tavern can hear him give his blessing as Zuth's name is called on.
A crowd had already been gathering, but by the time the drinks are ready, it becomes quite large indeed. Old Rel calls out, "One at a time, one at a time, plenty for all! A GENEROUS soul from within the Tavern has kindly handled the cost. So come one, come all, but come one at a time eh? And let us all give a toast or two to our gods, the elders, and all dwarves everywhere!"
There are cheers.
At the price named, the cowled figure nods, not immediately noticing the lock of slate-grey hair which slips out from beneath as she draws the coin from her pouch. "Now why wouldn't I?" She inquires of the receding backside. Shaking her head slightly, the warrior maid growls faintly in annoyance as she realizes her hair (and presumably her gender) refuses to be concealed.
She intones as she touches the display counter, scouring away the day's dust & grime. "Not much, but it's the least I could do. That," she points to the ax now being tended to by Dari, "has saved my life more times than I can count."
At the tell-tale sounds of magic on the street she turns 'round, catching the last fading glimpse of the simple dweomer. "What ho, ოქროსსიტყვა?" She calls out.
"Goldrune"
"Lok, sir. No clan, I ain't nobody," the boy answers, face full of shame but he takes the coins. He barely speaks dwarvish by the sound of it. "Thanks for not turning me into the watch."
"Well met -- I am Modnar. To tell the truth, Lok, I am not sure I would recognize the watch. Off to your task, now, and remember that what you can do means more than what comes after your name. Also, remember that I can open the ground underneath you with a wave of my hand!"
Modnar winks at Lok as the urchin makes his way through the crowd gathered around the Stonegate firebrand. What we need is a good bit of rabble-rousing. Hopefully the Moot will light some fires.
The wizard chuckles for a moment before walking to the smithy. Modnar frowns as he peruses the armor and weapons. He calls out to Dari, "By chance, do you do any lighter work? Rings, necklaces, or bracers, for example?"
Modnar looks quizzically at the hooded figure by the counter. "საინტერესო. თქვენ უნდა იყოს მაღალი და თქვენი ოჯახის."
"Well met -- I am Modnar. To tell the truth, Lok, I am not sure I would recognize the watch. Off to your task, now, and remember that what you can do means more than what comes after your name. Also, remember that I can open the ground underneath you with a wave of my hand!"
Lok's eyes widen een more at that claim, clearly Modnar has made an impression"Yes sir. I will sir." And he hurries off to do his task, no longer a thief, but a courier
When Anka's hair tumbles out...
Dari's eyes widen as she realizes , "Are you a woman then? Why hide? You on the run from some marriage or something I can hide you up for a few days. And don't worry, I'll get that axe in shape enough to cut a crotch clean if you're in trouble."
But when Dari sees Modnar has closed, she quiets "Help you?"
The wizard chuckles for a moment before walking to the smithy. Modnar frowns as he peruses the armor and weapons. He calls out to Dari, "By chance, do you do any lighter work? Rings, necklaces, or bracers, for example?"
"I dabble, but truly, for it done right, you'd want Talban's... he's two streets over, but I don't know if he's still open at this hour or not."
"I dabble, but truly, for it done right, you'd want Talban's... he's two streets over, but I don't know if he's still open at this hour or not."
Modnar's brow perks up at the name. "So old Talban's still at the forge? Father would be glad to hear it. In any case, I am not looking to buy so much as I am looking to work. Do you happen to have a ring mold and a bit of silver I could use?"
The wizard looks down at his robe and sighs. "I should probably also ask for an apron."
Chuckling slightly at the other's misunderstanding, the warrior maiden shakes her head, drawing the cowl back. "Not really, no." She replies to the beardless mage before her.
Turning to Duri, "Not at all. Some of what I've encountered...
have odd appetites. It's become something of a habit." Shrugging, she adds, "Here well, I get enough odd looks simply from this, " with that syllable, she sets an iron ring on her right index finger to glow brighter than a candle flame, "it's often easier simply to conceal that fact I'm a woman on top of everything else..."
Expression growing somber, she queries. "You've heard nothing square regarding what the moot concerns?"
Turning her attentions once more to the mage, she opines. "I would expect so. I take it then that you aren't of Goldrune?" Her brows furrow in curiosity.