Evening comes to Skyridge, and with it, the familiar howl of the winter winds. The Welcome district bustles with activity. Farmers pull their livestock into shelter and cover their crops to shield them from the cold; families begin warming coal in their firepits. Halfling laborers scramble to finish scouring the streets of snow and filth, hoping to retreat to the undercarriage to stay warm among the pipes before the sun vanishes beneath the horizon once more. Skyknights bring their massive eagles in to roost above the rooftops, dropping their canvas curtains over their nests and securing them against the wind to block the coming chill.
Amidst the hustle and bustle, a lone halfling, dressed in two and a half layers of thick cloth, appearing to all the world like a tiny brown yeti, dashes down the streets, rapidly scanning the populace and looking back down to a small scroll in his hands. his eyes light up as he spots his quarry, dashing up to you with a folded letter in his hands.
"Here you go, sir! Read immediately, and stay warm!" he chirps out excitedly, before scurrying off to return to his rounds.
The letter bears a grey wax seal in the shape of three talons. Breaking the seal, you see only a brief message:
You have been deceived. I can show you the truth. Go to the Mithral Pick at sundown. Show the innkeeper the seal. Your table is waiting.
The letter is unsigned. The sun hangs lazily above the horizon; sunset will occur for the welcome district within the hour.
*confused* I look over the letter and my curiosity gets to me i am intrigued by this message and wonder what it means. "I will Check this out"I said out loud, even though there is nobody for me to talk to.
Surprised by the interruption in my evening stroll, I am even more puzzled by the contents of the letter. Who could this letter be from? And to what deception could this message be referring to? My mind races from grand theories to fantastic conspiracies, connecting small seemingly meaningless events together into a complex web before I ground my train of thought in the practical. I recalled Natal Cindenger's teachings, “To make two assumptions when one is enough is to err by way of excessive supposition.”
I will not be able to ascertain what exactly this message could mean unless I do as it says. If I miss out on whatever is planned for me, I may not get a second chance to discover why I was given the letter in the first place. However, the secretive nature of the note's delivery and the enigmatic nature of the commands does make me a little bit wary. I wish I could cross reference the wax seal with at a library, but time is short. I will make way to the Mithral Pick and learn what I can there, but I'm prepared for anything short of a catastrophe.
Within the alley ways of Skyridge, light sparks off in golden rays. This light reveals six miniature golden obelisks,all six of which were hanging from mine ears and inscribed with a name on each.
i took brisk strides along the alleyway as i made my way down to the third level of the city. Reaching up, i stroke one of the obelisk earrings, the thirst of my vow of vengeance still unquenched. My blood boiled at the simple reference to that night over a year ago. I would find whoever committed... shaking my head clears the anger before things get to heated. All i need is a little bit more information and then... No, i cannot think about that, first i nee to meet with Slug. he had descent history with my old mercenary group for being a reliable informant whenever we really need information. I could not linger here much longer, i was almost at the spot that Slug agreed to meet at, after being granted a few favors. I did not have to worry too much about being seen with Slug, or him getting in trouble, as anyone who saw me tended to look away. Either that or they get creepy looks on there faces. i was kinda use to it.... kinda.
Just before i made it to Phoenix Stone Lane, just minutes away from the meeting with Slug, a fur wrapped halfling crosses the street and stops in front of me. "Here you go, sir! Read immediately, and stay warm!" Chirped the Halfling before scurrying off again.
"Wai- , uh OK..?" Raising the small scroll. That was weird, normally if they do not look away they just stare and do not approach. My horns, arm-scales, bronze skin, and hair seem to both fascinate and keep people at somewhat of a distance so this was a little out of the ordinary.
You have been decieved. I can show you the truth. Go to the Mithral Pick at sundown. Show the innkeeper the seal. Your table is waiting.
"You Slimy little son of a - Slug..." While Slug had been reliable in the past i do have to admit after the... incident, i was a little distraught. Since that first week after the incident Slug HAD been avoiding me, and this was the first time for us to meet in over a year... . it is possible that he could have changed this last year, Humans and other short lived races can change very drastically over even shorter periods of time as i have seen. "If he has double crossed me, then this would be just like that one time guarding that Merchants Caravan to the south, eh Eilijah?" The hollow feeling within my chest panged with a longing ache that lingered like a fresh wound. Time did not ease this ache, i knew, for i had more time than most. Clutching the small scroll to my chest with one hand, and with my other hand on my sword, i do a quick about face. If the Mithral Pick was where i remember it being i will need to move quickly to get to it before sundown. Who ever it is that stopped me from meeting with Slug, or possibly saved me from meeting with Slug, they better have some answers.
With a grunt of effort I pick up speed as i jog and weave my way through the back streets towards the Mithral Pick.
Hmm… This letter does not say much, perhaps the halfling knows something about this. I could try and follow him, but I don’t really have the time to track him down. It’s probably best to just head to the inn and figure out who sent the message. Hopefully I will at least be able to get a drink.
I change direction and start walking towards the Mithral Peak.
The Mithral Pick is one of the first and most prominent public faces for Skyridge, the Welcoming district, and the Brewbanes specifically, so they take great pains to ensure it is always secure and presentable. It is frequented by all kinds of citizens, though Dwarves are, unsurprisingly, the primary patrons and employees of the establishment.
The inn is probably about twenty minutes away on foot.
Finding your way through the streets of the Welcome district proves to be more of a challenge than one might expect: vendors are carting their goods to storage, herds of goats are being led back to their pens for the night, and guardsmen patrol in pairs. The flow of traffic around them resembles a river splashing against an outcropping of rock.
As you reach the clearing which houses the Mithral Pick, you see the grand establishment come into full view. The building is tall, even for a three storied structure, primarily chiseled straight from the mountain. The stones are stained with blue in various patterns, in a process the Brewbanes have thus far declined to reveal to the public, with steel support beams reinforcing key points and creating an inlaid effect designed to catch the light and improve the building's visibility. Hooded stone outcroppings protrude a foot or two from the walls with oil flames burning within. Lights are aglow from within as talk and laughter echo forth.
You see the large a solid pillar of smooth black rock standing roughly four feet off the ground, sealed against the elements with a clear coat of polish, with a silvery mining pick inlaid in what the Brewbanes claim is actual mithral. Engraved below the icon in font resembling Dwarven runes is the inn's name: The Mithral Pick. A surly Dwarf emerged from the entrance, garbed in warm, well made attire, with a bear fur cape clasped about his shoulders. He looks disgruntled as he drags a struggling man behind him by the collar, slinging the poor oaf out into the street with a grunt. The ejected one lands with a thud and the soft crunch of fresh snow.
"Reserved means it ain't yours, ye stone-eared piglet," the Dwarf barks out. "Twice yer told to move, and Kharon'll wake 'fore yer told thrice! Off with ye!"
Groaning, the stout blonde fellow gets to his feet, brushing snow and dirt off his clothes; he glares at the bouncer. "I paid for my food and drink same as all the folk inside! What, I'm supposed to dine out here in the snow because you brick-headed fools can't count your tables? I thought you Dwarves were proud of your business sense!"
The doorman folds his arms, spitting out into the snow with a flat stare at the . "Bleat all ye want, sheep. You're not grazin' here tonight."
The man in the snow curls his fists with fury in his eyes...
Jogging through the streets, my mind flashes back to memories of Phili. He had once taken me by a couple of taverns throughout the city, back when I was still at the young age of 48. He liked to make fiends there and said that he also needed to check up with his family periodically, and since his family own the taverns he could accomplish both ventures. I remember the Mithral Pick among a few others, as that one seemed to be one of his top favorites though I never really inquired as to why. The establishment spoke for itself, in my opinion, as to why anyone would enjoy going there.
I burst out of a side street, and my own thoughts, back into the real life of Skyridge's Main Street of the Welcoming District. A Cabbage cart Vendor almost immediately knocks me back into the side street as he pushes his way through the bustling crowd Vendors, livestock, guards and shoppers. "HEY, Watch out for my Precious Cabbages! Coming through!" screeches the Cabbage Cart Vendor.
Stretching to my full 6'5 height, I gaze over the majority of the flowing river of people and spot the jutting pillar of black rock polished to a dazzling brilliance that signified the Mithral Pick. The sign above the door confirmed this as it exclaimed to all the world that the establishment behind it was the Mithral Pick; A sign that was rumored to have been inlaid with Mithral though no one dared to take the sign and find out for sure.
By now quite a few of the people on the street had started to notice me and were clearing from my side of the street with as wide a berth as they could as looks of both distrust and wonder were displayed on their faces. Shaking my head even though this was what happened most times among people who had yet to know me, I take my first step forward towards the Mithral Pick. A tentative path opens among the flood of passerby as if i am parting a river as i make my way towards the Mithral pick. Just as i am nearing the doors of the Mithral Pick, the Vendors and shoppers clear enough space for me to get a good view of the front door just as it is flung open and a blonde fellow is tossed out onto the streets. A ring of clear space forms around the stout young fellow as those walking past decide that they want no part of any mess that the blonde man has made. A pretty tall dwarf saunters through the door after the blonde fellow, one who I had no memory of seeing before. Might be a new hire since the last time I was here...
"Reserved means it ain't yours, ye stone-eared piglet," the Dwarf barks out."Twice yer told to move, and Kharon'll wake 'fore yer told thrice! Off with ye!"
Neither of them had seemed to notice me yet as a whistle escapes my lips once I realize what the Dwarf was saying. The Blonde guy had to either be really daring or really drunk to disrespect a worker at a Brewbane establishment, especially at the Mithral Pick. Groaning the man gets to his feet, a glare set in his eyes and taking no notice of his surrounds. I cross my arms as i wait to see how stupid this man is going to be.
"I paid for my food same as all the folk inside! What, i'm supposed to dine out here in the snow because you brick-headed fools can't count your tables? I thought you Dwarves were proud of your business sense!" shouted the Blondie. my eyes narrow at the implication that the tavern, and not his OWN actions, were the reason he was being treated this way and that this was going to hurt their business. Who ever this Blondie was, he was not going to even get a chance at besmirching the name of the taverned owned by Phili's family, if i had anything to say about before this was over.
With a bored look on his face after having spit in the snow in response to the mans words, the Dwarf replies in a calm manner. "Bleat all ye want, sheep. You're not grazin' here tonight." Blondie still looked like he was ready for a fight that he was not going to back down. By now most people seemed to be either trying to avoid this side of the street or they were waiting to see what happened next. it was probably a good guess to assume that if a fight started any answers i might have gotten here would most likely disappear. With careful strides i approach the man and place my self in between the two facing Mr. Blondie.Once again streching to my full height, my molten eyes stare unblinking at Mr. Blondie as a rumbling growl bubbles forth with my words. "It would be wise of you to back down now, this is neither a fight nor an argument you will win. You were told the table was Reserved, thus you are the one in error here...," stated Draken. Hopefully this could end with just a simple warning, as I still had yet to get my answers and this man would not be keeping me from getting them either. The scroll still tightly gripped within my hand and held behind my back, just in case Mr. Blondie got any ideas.
Rolling his eyes, the man wheels around to face the unamused Draken. His eyes widen as he slowly looks up; the ifrit warrior has a full head and half of extra height on the disgruntled citizen. "D-d-demon..." he stammers out, tripping over his own feet as he scrambles backwards. Once he finds his footing again, he sprints away in a panic.
The doorman roars with laughter. "Aye, run home to ta yer mammy, ye nancy yearling! Go have some warm milk; sounds more yer speed. HA!" He gives Draken an approving nod and a chuckle. "Ye'd think they've heard of ya by now, eh Fireblood?"
Observing the crowd somewhat parting for the man sprinting away from the direction of the Pick, I immediately tense up. This usually does not bode well. Coupled with the cryptic message, I can tell that tonight is going to be quite peculiar. This coincidence might be worth taking note of.
I stroll past the usual hustle-and-bustle of the Welcome for about a minute more until I spot the familiar tall blue tavern from a short distance away. I look to the door to see a tall, hmmm, Ifrit? (Yes, that's it) standing near the doorway next to a chuckling dwarven bouncer. Whatever happened couldn't have been that terrible it would seem, though that flame-headed one does seem quite terrifying. I approach the doorman, somewhat interrupting any conversation he may have been having, and ask,
”Hello, good sir! May I speak to the innkeeper? I have a table waiting for me.”
I look towards the Ifrit and give a slight nod, as a sort of apology for interrupting any sort of conversation the two may have been enjoying.
As Freyr Approached the Mithral Pick he remembers the countless time his step father would come home from there drunk. *shivers go down at the thought of having to see that pig tonight. "Hey i told you not to be sitting around my inn looking for scraps boy" the innkeeper said glancing at Freyr. Often times did he have to beg a decent meal out of a traveler. "You don't understand i have a reservation" Freyr said frantically " If you have a reservation then prove it" the innkeeper said suspiciously. *Freyr reaches into his pocket and his eyes widened in fear as he cannot find the letter that he received.* Just as the innkeeper was about to yell at Freyr for wasting his time a small beggar child that Freyr has seen many times approached him "Excuse me sir you dropped this" Relived he took the letter from the girl and patted her on the head "Thank you" he said and "Hey if you stick around a little while i will try to snag you something to eat while im in there hopefully my host will be generous." Freyr then turns to the innkeeper and shows him the letter with a grin of excitement on his face.
*chuckling* That blond guy is probably going to get some of his friends and come back for revenge, but it’s not really my problem. Now then I guess it’s best to go and gather some information and see if anything is going on. Maybe the bartender will know something.
I head into the Mithril Peak and go up to the bar.
After reaching the bar, I ask the bartender: “Hello there, can you pour me a mug ale? Also, are there any interesting rumors floating around the city right now?”
The doorman appraises Edric, then shrugs, nodding towards the door. "Long as ye don't take someone's table, lad." He then steps back inside the building, clearing the path for regular business again.
As you step inside, the atmosphere grows noticeably warmer compared to the chilly breeze outside, thanks to the various grated pipes in the grey chiseled stone floor. The ceiling hangs high enough for even the most towering of guests, the iron chandelier in the middle of the tavern notwithstanding. The place is alive with talk and laughter, accented by the occasional clink of flagons toasting and Dwarvish shouts from the kitchen. virtually every stone table seems to be surrounded by men and women and covered by mugs and plates of food.
The smells of ale, bread, and coal-fired meats wafts through the air from the kitchen as you approach the crowded bar. A portly Dwarf with a neatly trimmed, shoulder length beard in a blue tunic and clean grey apron swishes a rag across the wooden counter top, sweeping crumbs onto the floor behind him; he sighs with relief as a swarthy patron gets up from his stool to leave; his eyes light up as he spots you. "Hail, folks; welcome to the Pick. Name's Toris; no tables free for the moment, but we've got plenty to drink."
He nods up to Siegfried, tucking his rag into his apron as he brings a clean mug up from beneath the counter. "Rumors? course there're rumors. Long as people can flap their gums and suck in air there'll be rumors," he chuckles, turning round to tap a large keg. As the mug fills, he looks over his shoulder. "Heard the last caravan's actually laid claim to some lumber," he mentions, setting the mug down on the bar. "word's that they haven't lost any o' their number yet, either. Be nice to cook somethin' without the smell o' coal for once, aye?"
Edric:
Draken:
Freyr:
Siegfried:
Through the jolly jostling crowds, you spot one table suspiciously empty, watched over by a burly guardsman in studded leather armor, his halberd leaning against the wall behind him.
Ah, that must be the table in question. Odd thing that it's empty when its so busy, I wonder what could be so important. And why the secrecy? The choice of such a frequented and busy place just makes whatever we are doing that much more surreptitious. I'm not one to subscribe to trite and simplistic adages, but this one holds quite true, “To hide a tree, place it in a forest.” Picking my way through the crowded tavern, I move towards the empty table, as politely as possible.
I approach the guard, and ask,
“Is this table taken? I have a table reserved...”
I fidget around in my pocket and procure the letter.
“Is this the correct table?”
I look for any identifying marks on the guardsman.
I enter the tavern and approach the bar. I have had to come over to the bar to grab my step-father and take him home many times.
I see the barkeep and ask
" Hey friend long time no see feels like it was just yesterday"
My face cringes at the thought that it was yesterday that i was last here.
" So i just wanted to ask. What is up with the big guy at the table in the back?
D-D-Demon?!
Mr. Blondie tears a hasty retreat through down the road, barely see as he looked in fear at me. The citizens seemed to be dispersing as the possibility for a little bit of drama fully vanished. Both these reactions though different were both very unsurprising to me, as I had seen these kinds of reactions quite often in the past few years. For some reason my vivid red hair, charcoal scales, horns, and bronze skin all seemed to capture other people's fascination, and distrust, though fear was just as likely to be expressed. Most those that showed either fascination or fear, stopped being fascinated, or fearful, once they got to know me. This was especially true for most of the dwarfs it seemed, as they were some of the most accepting towards me.
A chuckle escapes from mine lips as I hear the nick name that I had garnered from the Dwarf. Fire Blood ~. That is definitely a name i like. it was definitely better than Demon, or even half of the other names i had been called over the years, though i did have to say that Demon was the most popular name recently. "You would think that wouldn't ya.... hmm..."
A decently tall and well dress individual strolls out from the crowd and approaches the dwarf, giving a swift nod in my direction. Now this person looks like he would would be interesting. Wai-Wait? did he just say something about a table? Mr. Blondie was just complaining about it being full inside, and the scroll said something about a reserved table. I would definitely be keeping my eye on him for now. This Gentleman may be able to give me answers later if he has anything to do with this scroll in my hand. I start to say something but then surprisingly the Dwarf steps back, conversation effectively ended, and the Gentleman steps inside leaving me outside the door just as two more people briskly find their way into the bar. I- I was a bit surprised, as to lack of reaction... I did not have time to dwell on the thought now though. It was time to to get answers as i had planned to when i decided on coming here.
I step through the threshold just in time to hear the Dwarf behind the over populated bar introduce himself as Toris. With a nod towards the Dwarf who had been the one to throw Mr. Blondie out the door, i wander into the bar. Almost immediately the heat and pressure of having a lot of bodies within an enclosed space could be felt. Through the haze one man is trying to carefully make his way across the room. I get a spark of recognition as we both move within the crowd. Looking past his line of sight i see a guard standing next to an empty table. That must be 'The Table', though if the gentleman had the same scroll as me then he would need to speak with the Innkeeper just as well. With a Flick of my eyes i also recognize through the haze the two humans that had stepped inside just before me. They both seemed to be trying to speak with the Barkeep. Them and half the rest of the overcrowded bar i am sure.
Using my height to as much of my advantage as i could i try and look over the crowd. I keep the scroll tightly gripped in my hand and pressed against my chest, for one could easily steal in such a crowded environment and i needed this scroll in order to found out what exactly this was about. It was unlikely that the guard would be able to get the Innkeeper, or allow anyone without the Innkeepers say so to sit at the table, and the bar was as swamped as a bar could probably get, so then the Bouncer Dwarf was probably my best bet for expediency. I really needed to ask him for his name sometime before I leave here. Keeping an eye on ... (Mister Gentleman? nah.... the Serious Nobleman... yeah that named suited him much better) the Serious Nobleman, I approach the Bouncer Dwarf.
" Greetings. Would you by any chance know where the innkeeper may be? I was told to speak with him... "
“Yea, the lumber does sound nice. I just hope that they will get back in one piece.” I respond.
“Expecting some V.I.Ps?” I ask as I motion over to the burly man in studded armor. “Also do you know where I can find the innkeeper?”
He's obviously bored of his post; his posture is slouched and he acknowledges you lazily, rolling his eyes with a sigh of relief as you produce the letter and its wax seal. "Gods' mercy, it's high time you started showing up," he grumbles. "Damn Dwarves've had me babysitting this table for the last four hours instead of using it and cleaning it like an inn ought to do." He motions for you to sit, grabbing his halberd. "I'll go chide the 'keep to move things along; I'm ready to vacate this pig sty..." He then heads up to the bar.
Toris shrugs his right shoulder to Siegfried, stepping down the bar to grab empty plates and mugs off it. "Don't know about anyone special; ain't seen Tagred since the start o' me shift, lad. Just said to hold down the bar and keep things afloat till he got back. Whenever that is."
He spots Freyr as he moves about his work, nodding up to him with a chuckle. "Lad, it WAS yesterday. Ye bang yer head with a hammer again?" He raises a brow at Freyr's question, looking past him with a nod. "The guard? Methinks we're about t'find out, lad; here he comes."
The guard stops at the bar, letting the butt of his weapon thump the ground audibly as he addresses Toris. "Barkeep! Tagred Brewbane agreed to pay me to keep that table vacated until the proper guests arrived, and the first one's here. My job's done. Where's my pay?"
Toris scratches his beard, frowning. "Errr...'guests' kinda means there's more'n one, don't it lad? Thought you were s'posed to make sure they're all here?"
The guard taps his halberd on the floor, annoyed. "I didn't agree to haggle, Brewbane," he sneers. "The table's got someone to watch it, so I want what's owed me."
Toris crosses his arms, slowly shaking his head. "I'm no scholar, but my math says job's not done."
The guard fumes, flexing his grip on his halberd as he glares at the portly Dwarf...
Hearing what is said between the barkeep and the guard i walk over to the big man and ask him "Excuse me sir who is it that you are suppose to be waiting on and would it happen to have anything to do with this strange letter that I have received." I hold letter up to the guard.
Well I do not want this scene to escalate anymore, maybe I can ask the guardsman about the letter to distract him.
“My friend I have also received a letter, and I would also like to know if you recognize this seal that came with the letter.” I say to the guardsman.
An argument could be heard from the bar as i watch the guard who had left the table parley with the bar keep. Damn, does everyone want to start a fight today or what? First it is Mr. Blondie, and now it is Shiny Pants over there, both of whom seem to be in royally pissed off moods. If this keeps up I will be pissed, especially if they get everyone thrown out. I have waited this past year for answers, for leads, and a stupid guardsman who cannot keep his temper is not going to keep ruin this. my only other possibly might have back stabbed me, and this letter is the only lead i got now to ... THAT incident...
"Aye, it does look like something might happen, and that guy looks like he might start something..." Hey, the Nobleman from before is still over by the empty table... he may know whats up at the moment, and why the guard may be so disgruntled. it would be useful to hear perfectly what they are saying over at the bar, but the Mithral Pick is quite crowded and busy at the moment. "i think i will go and check with the man still at the table over there, but if anything starts up because of that idiot," i gesture with a vague hand wave at the guardsman." Just know you guys have my support if ya' need it." Without out waiting for a reply i make my way through the crowd. it becomes apparent, sigh, almost immediately that people have started to notice what i look like as the people in close vicinity backup from me.
With long, brisk strides i quickly make it to the previously vacant table through the hazy atmosphere of the crowded tavern. Looking over the table at the Noble man with his dark hair and icy blue eye, i gesture with a quick bob of my head towards the bar. "[b]Any idea what his problem might be? that guard seems to be acting very disrespectful and agitated..." Maybe this has something to do with the letter gripped tightly in my hand... maybe this Nobleman had a letter too...
I don't believe a tavern brawl would be conducive to figuring out what's happening here. I think that I'll do what I can to save my seat.
"Don't worry, barkeep! I think I'll be able to hold these seats until my fellows arrive!"
I arbitrarily decide to sit at the back of the table, and then I prestidigitate some awful offal and general filthiness on the seats across from me. I will ask anyone who comes here if they know of the letter, and if so, I will clean the seat. Otherwise, I hope that this grime will be a mild deterrent to an unwanted guest.
The guardsman glances away from Toris long enough to notice the presented letters, then does a double take. "HAH! There's your math, Dwarf. A whole tableful." He strides up to the bar, leaning an elbow on it with a smug grin. "Now then, you were saying?"
Toris rolls his eyes with a sigh, reaches into a pouch at his belt and counts out some silver, laying it out across the bar. "Aye, that's the lot of 'em. Take it and be off with ye then." He then motions to the letter holders, pointing to the table in the corner. "Have a seat, lads. Meal should be along shortly."
The guard chuckles to himself as he scoops up his hard-earned pay, then turns to exit the tavern with a chipper smile.
It's around 6:45 PM; some of the patrons are starting to file out, clearing some room near the back of the tavern near the reserved table. Though still populated, the Pick becomes noticeably less rowdy as elbow room becomes more plentiful. Toris makes his rounds, gathering up plates, flatware and mugs galore.
The guard is gone, the table is yours, the noise is now much more tolerable, and you still have a few minutes before the appointed time.
What do you do?
Hmm… perhaps I should ask to see if they know anything more about this letter.
“Hello friends, my name is Siegfried Cynbel.” I say to the table. “I was wondering, does anyone have information about these letter, or are we all in the dark?”
I clean away the muck and guts with a snap of my fingers at the sight of the people who had placated the militiaman.
"Salutations! I haven't the slightest inkling, I had the intention of ascer... Must remember that I'm not talking to particularly sophisticated bunch... ahem, learning about the letters myself."
How peculiar. What similarities could us fellows at the table share?
Hmm... I find this man across the table from me to be quite peculiar. He does not act the same way that most people do once they notice me. It is almost like he considers my differences in appearance to be almost trivial compared to other aspects and thoughts that rest within the vortex of his mind. it is practically ... refreshing... yes that word works. As he shouts across the room to the guard, a roiling muck seems to coat the chairs at the table. Hmm... i wonder who his fellows might be, as i could not quite make out exactly what the guard had been saying over the noise of the tavern, even though other customers were already starting to leave.
Looking at the dust, grime, and what appeared to be guts, I feel a chuckle make its way out. Seems like this gentle Nobleman is adept somewhat in the ways of Magic's smoke and mirrors. Anyone watching would not be able to likely tell the difference. This still does not entirely explain away why he acts so ... interestingly, but that mystery can be solved later.
A gruff looking man detaches his way from the bar and makes his way over here. he seems to have a jovial roll to his gait as he approaches holding up a letter that looks very similar to mine. Seems like I am not the only one other than Mr. Mage across from me who was invited here. Mr. Mage's word choice as the two exchange greetings proves that he definitely has some higher learning. The din around the tavern is quickly settling down as more customers make their way out the doors. While it did not seem like either of the other two at the table, now, had noticed me, this was the perfect chance to take my seat. Slamming the hand of mine that was holding the letter onto the table, i pull out the closest chair for me to sit. Claiming my seat, I grin up at the others. Soon we would be getting answers, though what answers we would all be searching for is still uncertain. the only thing that mattered was that i get one step closer to my target... my goal.
"Salutations, indeed! ... we may not be friends just yet... but if these letters deliver what they say, believe me the pleasure is mine."
Slow to approach the table after several others have seated. I walk from the bar to the table of men who appear to be in the same predicament as myself. But looking at these men I have to wonder why have I been pick put with these men? What do these men have in common and how can they connect to me. I look closely to see if i recognize any of the men sitting at the table, Or at least some kind of clue as to what is going on.
As the four of you take your seats in the corner table, Toris brings out a round of ale, breaking up the no doubt awkward silence. "Hope ye like goat," he chuckles. "Got some fine steaks and stew on the fire now."
After setting down the drinks, he looks about the tavern warily before leaning in and lowering his voice. "You've no idea how long we been waitin' for those letters ta pop up here, lads. Jus' hope they're the real thing."
Toris heads back to the kitchen, leaving you exchanging glances. Sundown draws near, dinner is on the way, and the tavern has quieted down. Some patrons linger at their tables while others arrive fresh for a drink. Shadows grow long as the sun starts to dip below the horizon; only the noise from the kitchen seems unaffected by the dusk hour.
Scents of meat and potatoes waft out from the kitchen, but still there is no sign of Tagred, nor any indication of the sender of the letters.
What do you do?
My Stomach Growls at the smells coming from the kitchen. It has been ages since I have had a fully cooked meal and the thought made me intoxicated. Right before I speak I notice that i had drooled just slightly from the smell. As I wipe away the drool I look over to the Fiery creature to my left and Smiled.
"Hello My name is Freyr Gram. Pleasure to meet you"
I reach out my hand in the attempt to shake his hand.
Hmmm... Well is this not an interesting turn of events. Looking around as a third man with a scar on his face also joins our group. He seems like a nice enough guy, a bit quiet though. My fingers curl back around my letter as the other three people take their seats in relative silence. The dead silence pervades until the Dwarf from behind the bar brings a round of drinks and introduces himself as Toris. Heh, maybe following the instructions on this letter was a good idea. I mean at the very least I will be able to get some knowledge AND free food. Ooooooh, I wonder if they make Curried Goat stew here.... Or maybe it will be Grilled Goat Chops with Garlic and Lemon... My moath starts to water involuntarily, though I do not actually start drooling.
You'he no idea how long we been waiting for those Letters ta pop up here, lads. Jus' hope they're the real thing.
Just how long have these been floating around... Tor is leaves, I my eyes look over my fellow letter holders... Even with the delicious smells wafting out of the kitchen, I continue to puzzle over these mysterious letters. Sure we will probably be getting free meals, but what I care for most is the answers to the questions I have had for the past year. It is not likely that we are all here because of my problems...
Looking over to my right, I find myself looking at Scarface man, aaaaannnd he seems to be out right drooling. Wonder when was the last time he had a meal, seems a little scrawny to me. I have no clue as to why the other two might be here. Just then, Scarface turns towards me looking me straight in the eyes... And smiling at me... Weird.
Hello, my name is Freyr Gram. Pleasure to meet you.
He holds out his hand and I shake his hand in a firm grip.
" Well ... Fryer, as I said before, should this pan out the pleasure will be mine. letting go of his hand, I look over at the other two. I wonder if we are all here BECAUSE we are all so weird, or rather interesting. I mean it is obvious why I would be considered weird, and even though it does not seem to bother these guys, that fact is made apparent to me every day by most those around me. At the very least we should enjoy this while we can. With determination I grab one of the four flagon's of ale and down it in a single draught. Slamming the flagon back down onto the table and let out a long whistle out through my lips. "You guys need ta liven' up. By the way, my names Draken. I believe the only one left to be introduced is you, sir! I bark as I look calmly over the table at the Gentlman of Magic with my hand still firmly gripped in my hand. I do not think there should be anything to worry about just yet, but that does not mean we can be careless. We still had yet to find out who sent the letters and why...
”Thank you, barkeep.”
I reach for a flagon of ale and pull it over to me. Twiddling my fingers over my drink, prestidigitating it to make it more amenable to my tastes, and then stirring gently with mage hand, I look towards Draken and quietly say,
”Edric. Of the Lymbault family.”
The Ifrit from the front of the tavern earlier is very direct.
”I came here to discover why I received this letter. But it's clear that not one of us have a clue. What in Kharon's name could we have in common?”
I sip from my enhanced brew. Delectable. Strawberries. Although this concoction could use a hint of citrus.
”I would enjoy a supper amongst you fellows, but I have little time for pleasantries beyond this... letter business.” Perhaps I came across too strongly. ”No disrespect to any of you, you all seem to be upstanding enough citizens,” I say as I look across at the three others at the table.
"Lymbault. I have heard of your family. My father had once done some metalwork for your family many a year ago for a project they where working on.
I hope he knows of my real father. It would be nice if someone looked at me as the son of Gram instead of that disgusting pig of human he has had to deal with.
"Hello there Fryer, my name is Siegfried Cynbel. Nice to meet you."
I then take one of the flagons of ale and start drinking it.
"I don't suppose you know anything about the letters?" I ask Freyr.
"I thank you in your father's stead, Freyr. But I have little association with the costly projects of my father Vanden."
An associate of my father? Not that unlikely, given how vast our need for supplies. I hope that he's not another pauper, as I have nothing to give.
I grow impatient, tapping my foot beneath the table, expecting answers for this apparently fruitless gathering of fellows. I sip my stew and slice a piece of steak before setting the piece of meat down and looking at Draken.
"Draken, you look like a soldier. Did your letter also tell of a deception? What kind of conspiracy would involve both a scholar and a soldier, and complete strangers nonetheless? It baffles me. Do you have any ideas?"
I eat the piece of meat and eagerly await a response. Dwarves like their goat a bit chewier than my tastes.
"Pleasure to meet you too Siegfried. I know nothing about these letters then what is written. As for deception now that is the true mystery."
As the last warmth of the setting sun starts to seep out of the stones, a gust of chill wind blows through the tavern. The front doors swing open, revealing a stocky Dwarf with a thick, close-cropped head of hair and a short, neatly trimmed black beard. He's dressed warmly in the whites and apron of a professional cook, though a few splashes and smears adorn spots of his attire, as if he's been working in a hurry. In his hands he carries a brushed metal tray with a handled dome atop.
He glances about the tavern hurriedly. "TORIS!" He bellows. "If those guests ain't still in their seats ye'll be workin' for scraps for a week!"
A crash is heard from the kitchen; something was clearly dropped and broken in surprise. Toris appears at the kitchen door, eyes wide. "Tagren! Kharon's blood, what kept ye?" He points a finger towards your table. "Four, all in their seats, just like ye told me. They're all yours."
As Tagred spots your table, he sighs with relief and approaches, moving drinks and meats out of the way to place the tray on the table. Rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, he lifts the dome. Aromas of sweet spices and wafting heat suddenly embrace your nostrils as he reveals a rich orange cake. It's about two inches tall, moist and fluffy, topped with a whipped white cream, already perfectly sliced in eight wedges, and still giving off just a slight warmth.
Tagren smiles proudly, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve. "Best enjoy that, lads. Don't want t'know how hard it was to get the foodstuffs t'make it, mark my words."
Another gust blows through; the door swings open again, revealing a rowdy, laughing half dozen halfling workers, flecked with soot, pulling off gloves and caps to reveal jovial faces underneath. Tagred's eyes flash as he scans the group; he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Ach...here we go..."
Hmph. So at least two people here seem to have a connection, however distant it may be. Thought that still leaves me without any real connection to anyone here. It may be better to watch and listen to their interactions. Setting my mug on the table, I look at each of the fellows with me. Seems I was right about this Edric, as he is both intelligent and possibly a noble. At least that is what I understand based on how he introduced himself. This only makes us being grouped together all the more curious. Cutting into my plate of food, I stop and look up at Edric.
Draken, you look like a soldier. Did your letter also tell of a deception? What kind of conspiracy would involve both a scholar and a soldier? It baffles me. Do you have any idea's?
So I am not the only one stumped on that account. ... "Why, yes. Though a deception of what? I am sure each of us are within quite different spheres of influence. Only thin' I can think of is a problem concerning the whole -" A brisk wind trails it's way across the back of my as a cheery Dwarf makes his way in. " -... City..."
The dwarf bring a domed plate over to our table. As he lifts it, I can feel my mouth watering just from the smell again. Once I see the cake, a smile appears on my face. I can almost feel my molten eyes gleaming with greed as I look at every inch of the cake. I know I have a possibly notorious sweet tooth, but food is really one of the few joys I have left since that... Incident. Snapping out of it, I catch myself leaning towards the cake, hands planted on the table. With a cough, and a shake of my head, I lean back into my seat in time to catch the expression of ... Tagren. He does not seem to excited. Following his gaze I turn around in my seat. A group of halflings are making there way into the tavern. The tavern keepers reaction was most curious, so much so I would not mind waiting a little bit for my answers. Though the same may not be said for everyone else.
Glancing back to the tavern keeper, I decide to be nosey for a change. " hey, Tagren. Everythin' ok? "
"Wow, those guys look like a rowdy bunch." I say, noticing the group of halflings.
"So Tagred, what is the meaning of these letters? Are you the one who sent them?" I ask Tagred while looking at him inquisitively.
I wait eagerly for the man to answer the questions unsure of what to ask myself.
The concerned chef casts his eyes back to the table, not wanting to take his gaze off the apparently-notorious halfling bunch.
"Maccus Blackfoot 'n his boys. Best repair team in the city, and they know it. Cutpurses and con-men, too, if ye believe the right gossip. Mind your purses, lads."
He glances at the letter in Siegfried's hand, shaking his head as 'Blackfoot' and his crew amble up to the bar, soot flying off them as they hop up into empty barstools. "Nay, weren't my hand. Know the seal, though; haven't seen it in half a century or so. Comes from up top; someone's got their eyes on all of ye, I'll wager."
Amidst laughter and clanking mugs at the bar, one of the halflings happens to glance over at your table. His eyes light up when he spots Tagren; they go wide as dinner plates when he spots your cake. He nudges Maccus in the arm; the ruddy, black-haired crew boss spins on his stool, grinning like a spoiled child at the cake. He hops off his stool, saunters over to the table, and rolls his shoulders, shaking a bit of soot off his long sleeves. "Right then...any o' you mates a gamblin' sort? I got a week's pay says I can arm wrestle any of ya for that pretty plate on yer table!"
Awfully confident. Best be wary, that's a tall wager for such a short man.
I float my fork in front of my mouth, bite off a morsel, and point the utensil right between Maccus's eyes.
"I'm sure one these gentlemen," I gesture around to my burly tablemates, "will be happy to win a free bit of coin."
I laugh and look around to the group at the table. "None of you are afraid of losing this plate to a halfling are you?"
I don't mean to insult any person at this table, but I hope this gentle insult will spur them into action. I will watch him carefully, and see what he is up to. If there is any indication of foul play, I'll be there to stop it. Besides, all he asked for is the plate, and that will be all he will get if he finds himself the victor. It would serve a charlatan right to be scammed himself. I'd be willing to recompense Tagren for the plate, a laugh, and a little justice in this world.
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"How about it Draken this man look like he would like a challenge. You up to giving him one."
I look at Draken confidently hoping he would take the bait. From the looks he or Mr. Cynbel look mighty strong for this kind of thing. But hopefully the half-ling will find himself shaking in his boots at the challenge of a fire-born.I think hard in the attept to recognize these men.
These guys look a little familiar and even if I don't know them I know there type. Greedy people who have enough but still want more at the expense of others.I will watch them carefully to make sure nothing bad happens to my possible new friends.
Well, That is disappointing. Though we shall be able to dig into this here heavenly sweet morsel in the mean time. My arm starts to reach across the table towards the cake, just as something he just said clicks. i, no WE, have caught the eye of someone important. That can be a bad thing just as much as it can be a good thing, but then again it is rarer for people to notice me. Bringing my hand back, i run my finger through the fiery red mane of hair behind my horns. Before today only once before had people i had known been so comfortable around me...
The Shadow's Brigade... ... Faunra
Laughter erupts at the bar, just before a cocky halfling saunters his way to our table.
I can hear the discordant, honey sweet melody of my blood ringing in my ears as the halfling finally gets to our table. i can just barely feel my nails diggin' into my palm as my hands clench and unclench repeatedly. This Halfling better not want any trouble, not right now.
I got's a weeks pay says i can arm wrestle any of ya for that pretty plate on yer table.
WHAT?! Oh, hell naw. I can feel my molten eye's blaze with cold anger as i look across the table at him. My fingers dig into the table as this Halfling just stands there with a stupid grin on his face. He wants the plate, sure we can wrestle for the plate, but he sure as heck ain't getting that whole cake. At least one slice of that cake is MINE.
How about it Draken, this man lookslike he would like a challenge. You up to giving him one?
A Rumbling groal rumbles through my chest as i stare down the Halfling and answer Freyr. "Aye, that I be. Better hope you're ready for what ye is askin' for, cause a challenge is what ye got yerself. " Bam! Pounding one of my fists into the table, I stand up, towering over the little halfling. A barbaric grin spreading as i smile down. " Whenever ya ready?"
Draken: Maccus pops his neck left and right, then hops up on a nearby chair, leaning over a table with his elbow propped up on the table, flexing his open fingers. As you match his position, almost engufling the halfling's hand with your own, it feels almost childlike, but there's a confidence in his posture that tells of experience. Maccus's crew gathers round the table, cheering and jeering; one of their number places his hands above the interlocking grips of Draken and Maccus, and he counts down. "Three...two...one...GO!" He releases you both and Maccus throws his meager weight into the contest, pulling with all his might as his crew cheers him on.
I drop the fork conspicuously in front of the halfling inching towards Draken and give the halfling a sly smile.
No you don't.
The not-so-surreptitious halfling flinches as he hears the clatter, but puts on his best innocent face as he looks over his shoulder at Edric. He stops, maintaining his position a healthy few feet from Draken, and continues cheering his leader on.
Tagren glances around the tavern hastily; spying no tables or new customers in need of service, he joins in the cheering, lending his bellowing voice...for Draken.
Maccus frowns, casting a sidelong glance at Tagren; the momentary distraction causes his balance to falter...