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Trying to stifle a rare laugh, Boftil decides whether to step forward and put an end to this madness. This series of missions was getting better and better by the day. This would be hard to top, though!
The pleading look in Thorek's eye convinces the gruff dwarf to speak up in aid of his friend, addressing the dwarven woman.
Boftil's straight face starts to crack again as he grips his hammer tightly to try and refrain from breaking up.
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Flora just shakes her head at the whole scene and goes back to the halfling talking to Lorian.
"Did Kline say anything to the dwarf? Do you have any idea which way he went afterwards?"
"I never have any idea what dwarves are about." The halfling says while giving a shrug and a sigh, a fisted hand holding up his head.
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As you continue to the next district...
Bonerattle.
This as religious of an area as orcs could ever have, with a spider-like cathedral that is a mound carved to resemble an arachnid. The mouth of the arachnid is an entry-way into the cathedral itself. Priests dressed in outfits made of bone enter and exit the cathedral to Rovagug.
Daedin does quick work to collect some potential rumors. The only information he can find is some point toward the Cathedral as the best efforts for anything. They also warn to tread lightly; the church of Rovagug and the Bonecarver priests should not be messed with and will tolerate outsiders only for so long.
...
Thud!
Before you can even reach the cathedral, a human comes up shoves his way into your path. "'Ello 'ello! Glad to see some sorts 'ere who aren't out to break me skull!" He speaks fast and quick, wearing a bunch of leather products. Boots, vest, pants, belt, shirt, gloves, hat, and even tuft. Looking over to Sindelle as well. "And a lovely lady with a brave band of Dwarves and friends! I like it! I like it!" He reaches down and kisses Sindelle's hand before a greeting can be given back.
"Oh where are me manners? I'm Dorost! Door to door Leather Salesman, selling only the finest leathers in all of the city! Been so for the past 10 years! You need leather? I need silver! I can give you my finest wares, all made 100% by the finest craftsman in the district!" He gives a wide smile that looks like a tooth or two has been knocked out of his mouth from his clean shaven face.
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"Who said we weren't," asks Flora in a deadpan response to bashing in skulls. "Just because we don't have tusks doesn't make us dangerous and I do not appreciate being taken for a patsy. If you were really such a fine salesman, you wouldn't practically be begging for money on the streets."
"But, she says after a pause, "If you can answer some of our questions, perhaps we can linger a moment to browse your wares."
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His face takes a look of shock and disappointment. "Ahhh you wound me master halfing. Yes indeed. I'm just a man of business looking for the next possible customer to satisfy, that I am! The only reason I am stuck here is that the orcs killed my last three horses for food, that they did!" He says while motioning his hand to his cart, where three stained saddles reside.
He lights up on the proposition of information for shopping. "Ah yes, browsing my wares can certainly help us both! I keep my ears to the ground as much as I keep my leather tanned and fine!"
He isn't joking about the quality. The leather does appear to be of higher issue, but that is because the majority of pieces are made from humanoids of some type.
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Thorek walked over to Boftil, and said
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Whether realizing that lying to Flora is not worth the time, or being genuinely honest, "If you really must know, master halfling..."
He leans closer and whispers into Flora's ear.
"Leftovers from the Bloodworks and church."
With that he gives her a pat on the shoulder, as he conveys his secret.
"But that isn't the information you are after, master halfling. I can tell by the look in your eyes and where you were about to go!"
"Which is good that I stopped you from going THERE."
He knows you were about to go to the cathedral. He knows something about it that he doesn't want to share.
"As I was saying, if you want a rumor or two, perhaps I can be convinced to loosen my lips. Though talk is not always for sale, and only goes to friends. And my friends, my good master halfling, are my customers, ofcourse!"
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He turns to Daedin, "It is best I not explain the finer details of the Rough Beast, good master elf." He says, now visibly shaken.
Followers of Rovagug, also known as the Rough Beast, typically spend their day hunting beings and things to kill and destroy, saving only that which can be utilized in creating greater destruction. The hierarchy is based solely on raw destructive might, and to rise in the hierarchy, another must be thrown down.
Church services are brutal and primitive, featuring sapient sacrifices, stomping, shouting, and breaking valuables.
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Boftil steps up with the rest to have a look at the wares. "What's all this whisperin' about then? Speak up so the rest of us can here as well, mate!"
Currently part of The Exchange faction, Boftil has a bit of experience in trading as a side job in between missions."So what have ya got there, mate? How would ya feel about settin' up some trade contacts with me bosses back 'ome? Would that be enough to loosen up that tongue a yours?"
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Boftil steps up with the rest to have a look at the wares. "What's all this whisperin' about then? Speak up so the rest of us can here as well, mate!"
Currently part of The Exchange faction, Boftil has a bit of experience in trading as a side job in between missions."So what have ya got there, mate? How would ya feel about settin' up some trade contacts with me bosses back 'ome? Would that be enough to loosen up that tongue a yours?"
[dice=Prof. Merchant]1d20+6
"Ah yes, that would be enticing."
"And it could get me out of this rat-hole."
"So what is it you would like to hear about our fine city?"
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Flora didn't fully trust this person, but didn't see any long term gain for his betrayal.
"We seek the secret passage to Koldukar that is rumored to be in the city."
“He was here. He met up with a priest of Rovagug, one of the Bonecarvers. I overhead him tell the priest that he was looking for his partner, who’d apparently swindled him and left him for dead. Kline offered to give up the partner to the Rough Beast, so the Bonecarver agreed to accompany the man on his search. They headed toward Pinkskin. I’m looking for Kline myself. There’s a bit of coin in it for you if you let me know where he is.”
Whether or not he actually is owed money from Kline, the story seems true.
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Daedîn nods. "You can be assured, if we find him, we'll let you know of his whereabouts so you can collect. You know this city far better than we...would it do us any good to inquire about him among the Bonecarvers? Or would that be unwise?"
He gives a shake of his head. "I assume you don't wish to become one of my products for sale, master elf. Would be best to leave them well enough alone unless you absolutely need to. As for where I could recommend, Scabtown might have a tale or two about Kline."
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Scabtown is perhaps the largest of districts. Noise from the Bloodworks arena, a massive structure some 300 feet long, regularly echoes throughout this section of the city. This district is filled with taverns and gambling houses, all made of leather stretched over bone, but the arena is by far the district’s greatest attraction.
As you wander the streets, you see there is a small crowd watching a performance of some sort. Getting closer, you see that there is a Tiefling with four Orc Guards. She is small by most standards in the town, standing only over 4 and a half feet tall. After her performance, many orcs and other humanoids applaud the performance, before the guards have them scatter out. The Tiefling is covered in finery and jewels, some of which resemble Chelaxian. Every once in a while, you see her gossiping with another person or orc, but each time they do they give her some money. Nearby ale stalls are serving orc special brews.
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You learn that the Tiefling woman is known as Madiskall Erindor. She originally hailed from Cheliax and is one of Urglin's richest citizens. She is always accompanied by four orcs, two of whom usher her about on a litter when she wishes to travel. She also has a comely, bare-chested human male.
She is one of the primary information brokers in Urglin, and she often shares her discoveries by writing scandalous and slanderous songs. She considers her time valuable, and charges 5gp for 10 minutes. Though it has been said that juicy secrets shared with her will cause her to waive the fee.
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Her smile quickly turns into a disappointed frown. "Oh. You want to hear about that."
"He’s lucky to be alive—if he still is. He cast a spell at the Bloodworks to save some half-orc food from Razorbite, and helped kill the bulette in the process."
She gets excited for just a moment. "I saw it all! I wrote a song about it," before her disappointment returns, "though I’ve been banned from playing it. Some people don’t find it so amusing—Ploog, the Bloodworks’ owner, being one of them."
She snatches the coins from Daedin's hand before jumping into her carrier and the orcs lift it, ready to go. "He was hopping mad that day, and he’s been mad ever since, really. No one ever stops the Bloodworks like that, especially not a pinkskin. I hear that afterward the human and the half-orc slave fled toward Belkzen, the half-orc’s old home. Only one who likely knows more than that is Ploog.”
After that, she and her entourage disappear down the road.
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Finding the Bloodworks is easy, for it is Scabtown’s largest structure at three hundred feet long, two hundred feet wide, and nearly sixty feet tall. The arena is built of bone, stone, and hundreds of stretched sheets of leather, and dozens of banners fly from the rooftop, the symbol of Rovagug being the most prominent among them.
Only two entrances admit its bloodthirsty audience, and each has a sign that crudely advertises a ticket price of one silver piece in Common, Orc, and poorly painted pictographs.
As you approach the entrance, some orc guards size you up. "Hold it right there, pinkskins. If you want in, you gotta pay."
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"Nuh Uh. Two rules, Pinskin." He holds his big meaty finger in the air."Rule Numbah one; No one sees Ploog during the fights."
He raises his other finger. "Rule Numbah two; Pinkskins pay a gold to enter. Only orcs get to enter for'a silver."
The other orc chimes in. "You wanna see Ploog? You wait til fights are done. 1 gold each."
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Boftil casts a glance across at Thorek.
"We seriously going to pay these scum? I've a right mind just ta bash 'is head in right now and walk in over 'is corpse! 'Course, the mission and all?"
Boftil seems to pause a moment, apparently waiting for a response from his wiser kinsman, one hand reluctantly hovering near his coin purse, the other twitching uncomfortably near the grip of his hammer.
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"Hold on to your money guys." Lorian said as he smiled at the guard. "Well now, I am sure that you are doing your job but there is nothing noted on the sign that says races other than members of your own glorious race has to pay extra now is there?. I am sure that you have not payed Ploog any of the extra money that you collected for your retirement fund. Now I am sure that it is just a misunderstanding that happened and you are happy to let us in at no charge." he added.
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The orcs give each other a quick look, before bursting into a fit of laughter. "I like these pinkskins. They's don't knuckle under."
"Yeah, unlike other puny pinkskins. These ones talk as orcs."
"Alright Pinkskin. You's bunch can go on t'rouh."
The interior of the Bloodworks is very similar to its exterior, with panels of hide-wrapped wood forming a dusty fighting pit in the building’s center.
Roughly built bleachers wrap threequarters of the way around the perimeter, and the northern end is dominated by a keep of earth, stone, and wood with steeply slanted sides and two sweeping sets of stairs that descend to the arena’s floor like a pair of insect mandibles. Between the stairs is a massive set of wooden double doors large enough to accommodate a pair of mammoths.
A few rows of seats sit further up the side of the keep, and immediately behind them rests a large throne crafted from the bones of nearly every creature to walk the Cinderlands.
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You try to seek an audience with Ploog, but its quite clear who he is. In the center of the arena and suspended in the air you see an orc in a mechanical box lift as he pulls has a large megaphone in his hand. From how well dressed he is, and the way the audience is chanting, it would be hard to mistake him for anything but Ploog.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! In this corner, standing in this corner is the underdog fighters and former slaves! Taking every fight as bit by bit and bloody battle, the Gladiator Crucible!" As the audience makes some cheers and boos at a bunch of rag-tag humans with spears, axes, and swords.
As he makes his next announcement the walls on the far left have a caged door that begins to open. Chains are rattling and pulling fast as the door lifts into the air.
"And the contender you have been waiting for! Standing at fourteen-foot five and weighing it at an astounding six-thousand pounds! Tonight's entertainment - THE ETTIN!"
It happens so quickly it would be hard to call it a battle. The ettin charges in and begins to immediately dismember the gladiator fighters. In a matter of seconds most of the gladiators are dead, and the ettin is playing with the last of the fighters that stood against it, much to the crowd's delight.
Before the ettin could charge out, Ploog raised himself in his cage mechanism back to a penthouse above the arena. There are stairs that lead up that way, but more orc guards stand firmly in the way. Approaching them they wave you off.
"No one sees Ploog during the fights!" One jeers at you all.
There is little else you can do aside from watch the ettin beat the last remnants of the fighter group that stood against it.
An hour passes and the stadium empties out. Approaching the orc guards, they look you over.
"You wanna see Ploog? His time is valuable. Fifty gold, pinkskins!"