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The blessings of Rava, the clockwork goddess, shines on the Free City of Zobeck. The streets are thronged with people of various races - humans of various nations, as well as kobolds, elves, dwarves and even strange gearforged of Zobeck.
A crow flies over the city wall and over the busy streets and markets, various districts of the city and over the stalls of street merchants and hawkers. Finally, the crow lands on the creaking sign above the inn doors. The sign is faded so much that only the most basic dragon-like shape can be discerned. The crow hops once or twice, as if watching for someone. When seeing several figures approaching the inn from the main street, the bird caws and flies away, as if satisfied by what it has seen.
Heroden had just arrived in Zobeck a few days ago, and was actually still taking in the sights and sounds of this place, so seemingly different from many others where he had been before, when he decided it was time to set himself into action.
He had enough time to shake the weariness from the road travel away, and was feeling quite himself again, so he decided it was time to look for employment - he had long ago learned that sometimes finding a local job (of course, one preferably relating to his capabilities as a combatant and making use of his Desna inspired powers) was the best possible way to understand the comings and goings of many a place he had visited before - the way employers carry themselves and the nature of the taks at hand make for an excellent measure of how things work.
It was not long before after dropping a few silvers around that he got word, in writing, to visit the Nameless Dragon Inn - anyone watching him approach would be surprised by the stark contrast of his white beard and hair with the young, jovial look on his face, which looks not a single day over 30 years of age, with piercing sky blue eyes.
He strides calmly up the street, a huge spear strapped across his back, in a crossing pattern with the javelin containing quiver, strapped the other way around. A well tended, long flowing pale grey robe covers his armored coat, which is in perfect conditions, well preserved and cared for. His step is a slow but sure one, as his massive frame seems to easily carry his belic gear, as well as his backpack, and multiple items of survival gear - each of his strides reveals an unusual four pointed weapon with a handle, as if a mixture between a star and a multiple bladed dagger dangling at one of the sides of his hip, while on the other side sits a neatly accomodated heavy looking mace.
As he walks up to the entrance of the inn, he lifts his right hand, showing it clearly enveloped in an armored, spiked gauntlet, opening the door and stepping inside the hazy ambiance, bathed by a myriad of voices and the smell of different cookings.
At his neck, a beautifully crafted but simple bronze butterfly dangles freely, on a twined cord.
Riding down the busy street, Dasim’s brown eyes flick back and forth between the bustling traffic and the worn, folded paper with the directions to the inn written on it. Even though he’d only been in Zobeck a short time the noise, people, and smell already had him longing for the wide open plain.
Travel stained and tired from the long journey across the plain to Zobeck, Dasim was ready for a bit of rest. But more importantly, the opportunity of paying work lured him even more. His hand felt the ever lighter pouch at his side that contained the few copper and silver coins he owned.
Grabbing three of the coppers from the pouch, he waves to the stable boy as he reins in Tsura in front of the building with the faded dragon sign. ”This must be the place the old man told us about Tsura.” He says to the horse while giving the gold-colored palomino a loving pat on the neck. ”Let’s hope his promise of work still holds true.”
When the stable boy comes up, Dasim hands him the coins and Tsura’s reins. ”See that she gets a good rub down lad and then give her a bit of this grain. Not too much, just a handful or two should be good for now.” He says, handing him a nearly empty bag of horse grain. ” I’ll be out to check on her in a bit.”
With Tsura taken care of he checks his sword and says a quick prayer to Svarog as he notices the raven take flight. ”Hrmmm, raven takes flight, beware the night.” He says remembering one of his mother’s sayings. He then steps into the Nameless Dragon Inn hoping that whoever he was supposed to meet is actually there.
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Stoutly dwarf he was, Aragoth tipped his flask upside down watching a small drop fall worthlessly out of it Gahh.. A'course thee ale's gone" He grumbled, he'd managed to find the majority of his belongings, all of which was, in-tact. He considered himself lucky, squinting about the crowds, not quite sure of what to do. He was stranded. His caravan had left him, or at least that's what he's hoping for, it woulda been an early departure for them. They had just gotten there the day prior. He spotted the inn they'd chosen finally, making his way there, rubbing his still tired eyes as he made his way through the tall and numerous crowds.
This inn... Aragoth still wasn't sure what it was called, it was simply close to his merchants dealings, so be it. He readjusted his equipment and made his way in to see if possibly another drink could change his fate... For the better.
As she pulls up before the faded sign, Morrigan surveys the street and the inn itself. Her emerald-colored eyes narrow as she spots the crow hopping from foot to foot before taking flight. She shivers slightly, perhaps ...remembering. In her experience, crows and ravens were harbingers of change and different forks and destinies taken.
She glanced over as a brown-eyed human man tossed a coin to the stable lad and winced a little to herself. Her own stack of coin was dwindling dangerously low, which was one of the reasons she was here now. Gaining entrance to the arcanum university was... more difficult than she had anticipated, and now she was finding herself taking on odd jobs to make ends meet until her purpose here was accomplished.
Morrigan slid one leg over, hopped lightly to the ground, and gave her mare a pat on the neck. When another of the lads approached, she gave him a coin as well with instructions to care for her horse. Keep an eye on things., she whispered as the boy turned down the lane, leading the horse. A single raucous 'caw' from an unseen raven was the only reply.
Squaring her shoulders and letting out a breath, Morrigan turned towards the inn's door. She was a short, lithe woman with long, black, raven colored hair, some of which always seemed to be getting in front of her face. She could be pretty in an elven sort of way, though many have found it difficult to put an age to the face. She is dressed in simple traveling clothes, pants, belt and blouse, all covered by a light cloak. She carries a gnarled wooden staff is in her hand. She pauses at the door and draws the cowl lower, hiding her features and then walks inside.
Jevrok tried to avoid the glances he got as he walked up the street towards the inn. He was just to being out of place, but here, he seemed to be even moreso. He focused on the inn in the distance and followed along as he watched a couple of humans, a dwarf and an elf enter ahead of him.
As he approached the door, he shifted his gear off of his shoulder and holding it to where it would be easy to set down, pushed his was through the door. Stepping to the side so he would not block the doorway,he let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light inside and took it all in.
As Dasim's eyes adjust to the dim light of the inn he steps away from the entrance. Not seeing anyone who resembles the man he was supposed to meet, he moves over to the bar and orders a simple house ale.
His eyes watch the door as a dwarf, followed by a woman and then a minotaur step inside. Dasim noticed that all of them had the same look of expectation and uncertainty that he himself felt upon entering the inn. Perhaps they were all here to meet the same person? Afterall, what are the chances that such a diverse group would step into the same inn within moments of each other.
He takes a sip of his ale and sets it back to the bar before stepping up to the dark haired woman and dwarf. Placing his hand over his heart he offers them both a slight bow of the head and says, "Greetings fellow travelers. I am Dasim Dakat, a newly arrived wanderer to this great city. I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be searching for someone as you came in. I to am expecting to meet someone in the fine establishment." He looks around the room to find an empty table. "Perhaps, we are all waiting for the same person? If so, it would be a great honor to to have you share a bit of drink and food while we wait?"
Heroden listens quietly to the man's introduction, pondering if they may be there for the same reasons. For the time being he will not step forward, keeping to himself and to the mug of ale in front of him.
To the side, his longspear rests casually against the wall.
Turning as Dasim speaks, Morrigan hesitates a moment, studying him before finally inclining her head slightly to the human. He seems friendly enough, and I am unsure who I am to meet is here. It cannot hurt to sit with company until I can ascertain what is going on. At any rate, it is a better plan than standing here blocking the door.
From beneath her cowl, her voice replies in a soft alto. "If it pleases you, Dasim Dakat, then I will join you." She moves toward the indicated table. While she moves with apparent confidence, there is an air about her of one unused to the environment in which they are, a furtive glance there, or a start at a loud exclamation from one of the gaming tables. Her accent also is strange, marking her as not being from around these parts.
"I am as you say, meeting someone here and would not mind the company until such arrives. Oh, and I am called Morrigan."
When Morrigan accepts his offer, a warm smile crosses Dasim's face. After pulling a chair out for her he asks, "Would you like a pint? The house ale isn't bad." With a slight blush he continues, "To be honest I can't afford much else. The journey here was long and lightened my coin purse a bit more than expected. That's why I'm hoping this offer of work will come through."
"But I didn't invite you to hear about my money troubles." He says with lighthearted laugh. "Are you a citizen of Zobeck or newly arrived like myself? I admit I was here once with my family as a small child. We passed through for a few days, but I don't remember much." He wrinkles his nose, "Except the smell and noise. By Svarog, that seems to have stuck with me and is, unfortunately, an all too accurate memory."
Morrigan smiles slightly up at him as she sits in the proferred chair. "Thank you. Ale will be just fine." At the mention of light coin purses, a burden she was all too familiar with, she briefly considered offering to buy her own drink. However, she also did not want to offend either custom or the man's own sensibilities. He had offered, after all. Mentally, she decided that any potential refill would be on her.
"Yes, I am finding it difficult to acclimate to the smells and noise myself. It can be quite overwhelming here at times. I am not from Zobeck either, and this is but my first time in the city. What do you think of the city, now that you've returned? Did you travel far on your journey here?"
Setting a fresh mug of ale before Morrigan, Dasim returns to his own and takes another small sip as she mentions her own experience of Zobeck. His hand rubs his chin and beard in thought for a few seconds when asked how many days he'd spent traveling to the city.
"Hrmmm. Can't say much about the city yet since I've only been here a short time. As for days of travel, more than a few for certain." He chuckles softly to himself. "Our wagons were on the southeastern reaches of the plain when I left. I'd say it took Tsura and I nearly two moons to cross the plain and reach the city. Although we weren't traveling fast." His eyes shine with pride as he speaks of his horse. "She could've cut a good week or two off of that easily if there had been need to. Svarog blessed her with a fine form, strong heart, and good sound head. She's come along nicely as we've worked together on this journey."
Stopping himself from chattering on further about horses, he asks with a bit of a blush, "But it sounds like you've had a journey yourself to get here? How were your own travels?"
"It sounds as if you and Tsura have had quite a journey." Morrigan smiles as she lifts her mug to her lips and sips while considering how to answer his question. At length she set her cup down on the table, one finger sliding along the rim. "My own recent travel here was probably not nearly so distant and arduous. Evraine, that's my own mare, and I came from the Margreve Forest. It took us ... a couple weeks, give or take a day."
She stops, seeming unsure for a moment before changing tacks with a question of her own. "You speak with pride when you mention Tsura. Have you and she been together long?"
At the mention of the Margreve Dasim makes a small gesture of protection against evil common among the Kariv and other peasant folk. "The Margreve." He says with just a hint of a shudder. "Not an...easy road to travel. Especially alone."
"I've spent most of my life on the wide open plains, but even out there the grandmothers tell tales of the Margreve and its old spirits and dangers. Anyone who can make that journey is certainly one to be honored in my book." He raises his glass in a quick, respectful salute and takes another sip.
His mood quickly turns light again at the mention of his horse. With a soft, pleasant laugh he says, "Beware asking a Dakat about his horse. We may never stop talking."
"Officially we've not been together long, although I was there when she entered this world and have watched her grow from a colt. But this was our first long ride as a team. She's still young, but already she's proven herself well and I think I've met with her approval. She's a bit of a stubborn streak like her mother, but I like the challenge. A little more time and work and she'll be one of the best friends a man can know." He stops and turns red again, "There I go running on again." He says with another light laugh.
"So what brought you through the Margreve to the walls of Zobeck,if you don't mind me asking?."
"I did not pass through so much as I left it." Morrigan shrugs, wondering how much to tell this man. Certainly, given his reaction upon hearing the name Margreve, it would probably not be wise to share the..affinity she had come to feel for the place. At length, she continues, "I ...well, I woke up in the forest perhaps a year ago. I did not remember who I was, nor how I got where I was. That is why I came here:to seek answers if I can." She bites her lip as she raises her mug to her lips, watching him, perhaps a bit warily.
Dasim leans in slightly as Morrigan talks about her lack of memory. His superstition of the forest obviously overcome by his interest in the woman's strange and mysterious awakening. "Hmmm, that is quite a puzzle. Blessed Svarog, to wake up not knowing who I was..." He shakes his head at the thought and makes another almost unconscious gesture of protection.
"I know little of magic or its workings personally, but my peoples wandering nature has brought us into contact with many strange lands and peoples. There are wise women and grandmothers among the Kariv who know the mysteries of Midgard both light and dark. Perhaps if your initial investigations do not lead anywhere you would allow me to try and help you find the answers to your questions?"
He reaches out and offers Morrigan his calloused hand in friendship. "Perhaps working together we can find answers where only one would fail."
"You would help me? " The slight little woman blinks somewhat in surprise at Dasim's offer. She had expected more of the typical feigned interest, perhaps a pitying look like those she had most often received those, admittedly few times when she had shared her story with a fellow traveler. Most had enough problems of their own without taking on those of a stranger. She studied the affable man across from her, quickly appraising him. Found herself (also a surprise) liking, and even to an extent, trusting him.
Reaching across the table, Morrigan takes the proferred hand with her own, offering a small smile as well. "You are kind to offer, Dasim. Thank you. If I cannot gain entrance to the arcanum, I may well take you up on your offer." And it seems highly likely that I will need to, at this rate. At the least, it will be something to do, a path to take - assuming he has not moved on when the time comes.
"Did you say you were meeting someone here? If he has not yet come, will you tell me something of your people while we wait?"
Not realizing he held his breath as Morrigan studied him from across the table, Dasim lets loose a sigh of relief as she accepts his offered hand of friendship.
Taking another sip of his ale, he pauses for a second when she asks about his contact. The circumstances around who he was to meet were still unclear and just a bit strange to him.
"Yes, I was to meet...someone here, but to be honest I'm not really sure who." He shrugs a shoulder, "I met an old man along the road. He was struggling with a broken wheel on his wagon. I helped him make a repair, as any good Kariv would. In return he gave me the name of this inn and said someone would meet me here with work if I needed it."
Tipping his head slightly to one side he continues thoughtfully, "A strange old fellow, his wagon was empty except for a few of these big bird cages. Each one held a raven or might've been a crow. I never was good at recognizing birds. Another of the black birds rode around on his shoulder the whole time. Odd thing was he didn't seem like an animal trader or merchant. He just had all these birds, treated them all like they were his children..." He laughs again. "I guess that's not much different from my people and our horses. A Dakat Kariv without a horse is like a fish out of water."
Looking across at Morrigan he asks, "You were here to meet someone as well, right? Was it a master from the Arcanum?"
"Umm.. no, not a master of the Arcanum." At the mention of ravens and crows, her eyes had narrowed almost imperceptibly as she wondered at the implications of this strange man, the choice of inn, and what - if anything - it might portend.
"No, I was to meet someone here, but as far as I know it is not connected in any way to the college. I am here, well because my coins are running low and ,like yourself, was told there was work to be found here. I wonder if the letter I received is connected in any way to your man on the road?"
His own eyes narrow as Morrigan tells of her own letter and mysterious contact.
"Hrmmm. Could be a possibility." Dasim says slowly, his hand stroking his beard unconsciously as he thinks. "Certainly possible, but...what are the odds?"
He eyes scan the room. In a few moments he notices several others, including a dwarf, human, and minotaur, who also have the look of a person waiting for someone. Turning his attention back to Morrigan he leans in and says, "Perhaps we aren't the only ones who've been directed here?" As a slight frown crosses his face he adds, "Although if this is the case, the coincidence smells of magic or, perhaps even more troubling, the meddling of gods." At the last his hand reaches up to his neck to lightly touch a small carved, wooden symbol of a horse head sitting on an anvil shaped base.
The man named Dasim had caught Aragoth slightly off guard with his original introduction. His mind had still been on many things of the morn, he hadn't quite had a chance to recollect himself. Though he agreed to a drink though he'd pay for his own mead. Seating himself and listening to the conversation between the elf and human he studied. Keeping more to himself just the same as that other human leaning to the wall.
The dwarf, lost in his own thoughts, finally pipped up after sometime. "Ah well it's 'ard ta say I like ta think it's just a bit of luck that may have thrown this glass ma' way" He chortles, his attention directed more towards Dasim. His expression dims as he gave a quick glance over the elf sitting by. "Dough with the company that could find us in this diverse metropolis, I'd consider us fortunate if it be just that... luck... But oohs to say!" He gives a hefty laugh at those around the table and brings his pint up in the air before pulling at back and getting the majority of the liquid into his maw.
Dasim turns to the previously quiet dwarf. He watches as the sturdy character raises his mug to take another large, deep drink. The dwarf's free drinking was a stark contrast to Morrigan's and Dasim's own gentle nursing of their ale. Judging by the red rimmed eyes, Dasim couldn't help but wonder if he had a tendency to drink a little too freely at times.
Although still feeling a bit wary and skeptical about the coincidences involved in their meeting at the Nameless Dragon, the Kariv offers a friendly nod to the fellow's attempt to put it all on Lady Luck. "You may be right friend." He says cautiously, "It could only be luck. Besides they must call this the Crossroads for a good reason I'd suppose."
Trying to brush off his concerns, Dasim turns the subject toward the dwarf. "I don't believe I caught your name earlier. You sound as if you know the area well. Do you call Zobeck or one of the nearby Canton's home?"
Morrigan raises a single eyebrow as she notices the dwarf's expression change when he looked at her. She says nothing however, but instead leans back into her chair, content at the moment to listen and let the others talk as she drifts off with somewhat darker musings of her own.
No... not luck or coincidence I am thinking. I do not believe in such things any more. Something is moving in the shadows - unseen until it chooses otherwise and reveals itself. But what strings is it pulling, and to what end?
Her eyes sweep from Dasim to the dwarf, then the strange human with the spear and the minotaur across the room. No, maybe I'm being paranoid again, but Dasim is right. Something is happening here.
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"Ah righto ma name, my apologies." The Dwarf chuckles a bit, releasing his pint, he straightens the thick leather coat he dons, a slight bit of chain clinking together from beneath. "I believe an introduction slipped my mind" Putting a hand to his head he removed the strange piece of leather a top it, pressing it to his chest and nodding his head towards the three currently present. "I am Aragoth Yodalheim" Placing his cap back to his head he drew a sip from his glass.
A slight joyous snort escaped from Aragoth to Dasim's assumption, starting a few commoners nearby. "HA! If I'da known Zobeck any good I'd not be in this mess His snickering continued, clearly finding this a bit more comedic than need be. He calmed himself "No, no. Last night was my first here, I just hear things.. I travel from the Northlands. That, is where I call home"
"Glad to meet you Aragoth."
Dasim returns Aragoth's head nod. To Dasim, the dwarf didn't look like a reaver. But he had only encountered a few of the fierce warriors on the plain. Mainly fighting among the mercenaries of the Empire or Vidim. Mostly he only had stories to go from. Tales told around the fire where so many details get exaggerated to entertain better. But warrior or not, the more troubling thing for the Kariv was the man's mention of being in a mess.
Noticing Morrigan's silence, he flicks her a quick look of concern. Is she as troubled as he is by the dwarf's mention of being a stranger and in some kind of trouble? The coincidences continue to grow. This can't just be luck.
Turning back to Aragoth he says carefully, "The Northlands. That's a long road to travel. It seems we've all traveled a good distance to end here." Clearly trying to wrap his thoughts around the growing puzzle he asks the dwarf, "What brings you so far south. And if you don't mind my asking, what's this 'mess' that you mentioned being in?"
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A man enters the inn and the host of different conversations die for an almost imperceivable instant as patrons unconsciously freeze in their thoughts and actions, caught in the clutches of some ancient dread, some unnamed racial memory of shadows in the deep caves, before fire was tamed.
The man is tall - perhaps six and a half feet - although his height is somehow hard to determine precisely, since his shadow seems to flutter and stretch behind him, almost as if alive and as if it has a will of its own. As he walks through the crowded inn, his shadow somehow evades the flickering light of tallow candles on the tables and torches in the brackets and - strangely - caps fall from the heads in its wake, the drinks get spilled and people hunch their shoulder as if against cold draft.
The man approaches your table and only then you realize that you have watched him without blinking since the moment he entered the inn, but it is only now that you are really noticing his high cheekbones, pale green eyes and large long-fingered pale hands, that somehow seem alive and creatures of their own will and fell intent.
"Greetings and salutations", he says. "May I join you at your table?"
Even though Heroden had been sitting at a table all by himself, he somehow gets the feeling this is the... person he has come to meet.
Without being too obvious, he keeps his attention focused on the stranger and the ones around the table - This should be interesting...
"Ahem..."Dasim clears his throat softly as he tries to shake off the strange sensation that accompanied the stranger's arrival. With a final chill running down his spine, he mutters a quiet prayer to Svarog and then says with a somewhat forced smile. "Greetings stranger." Waving a hand at a free chair he continues, "Another is always welcome at the table if they come in friendship."
Uneasiness swept through Morrigan in a torrent as the stranger approached. She had the sinking feeling that she was not being so paranoid earlier after all, the way this one radiated power - a power that far outstripped her own.
She withdraws further into her cowl, eyes peering out at the stranger as he moves to sit. Watching and waiting to see how this meeting will unfold.
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"What brings me south? well this ties in with the slight 'mess' I'm in as well. I am a guard.. er... was.. a guard" He chuckled and continued. " I had three otha Dwarves with me the past night, where they have gone off to I'v not the slightest inkling."
He made for another set of words but they were lost upon him as he had turned to look at the strange patron. After collecting himself once more he glanced from Dasim to the newcomer, almost baffled by Dasim's hospitality. A sudden itch in his throat brought out a few coughs, as if he'd taken some ale down the wrong pipe. Shaking his head, though an insignificant motion it was, the dwarf decided he pint had something of interest on it and decided to turn his attention away from the stranger.
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"Friendship... Ah, you speak of that curious concept native to these lands. I know nothing of it, alas. I was born in the realm where mutual usefulness is a base for all personal interactions. In a way, that is what brings me here. And I suppose that is what brings you, since I can sense that you are new to this place. I have asked my factor to find me capable guards and allies for my next venture. Do I dare assume that is the reason why all of you are here - strangers to each other, but sitting at the same table?"
"Where do you hail from, that it's people would know nothing of friendship? Demon Mountain, Morgau, or perhaps the forest of Neimheim?" Dasim responds.
Sitting back in his chair the Kariv looks at the stranger trying to understand this person with power and unknown motivations. Finally he says, "It's true I am here because I lack coin. However, I learned of this work through and act of kindness to another and..." He flicks a glance at Morrigan. "I have already found one I would call friend at this table."
At his words, Morrigan turns her head slightly and offers a small smile of appreciation to Dasim. She still remains silent and ill-at-ease however, intending to let the human take the lead with this strange man, if indeed 'man' he might be called. She was returning to watching the fellow, awaiting his response to Dasim's question when just then a thought pricked her mind.
She pushed it away, but not before it coalesced in her mind and was almost upon her lips, the words strangely coming in the form of Umbral, the corrupted language of the shadow elves. "what significance would ravens have to you, I wonder..." She lets out a breath, clamping her mouth shut before they could escape with more than a soft, strangled cough.
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Aragoth sat, this curious stranger made his nerves tense and he felt he could burst the glass if he held any tighter. He turned his head to the being taking in what he could about the figure. His eyes in a curious squint, his tired eyes straining to find little while his brain peaced together small bits of info about the guy.
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"I hail from the realm where shadows rule. And I seek to travel to the city of World Tree." He pauses for the moment to consider Morrigan's words, and then he replies in the same language he spoke from the beginning. "Ravens, they are not of much significance to me. But crows, completely different matter."
Dasim glances back to Morrigan as the stranger seems to reply to her whispered words. Shrugging off that question for the moment he looks back to this creature of shadow. "To the World Tree. A...pilgrimage?" He asks, but then brings his thoughts back around to the question at hand.
"Is that the work the you propose. Providing an escort for your travel?"
At the stranger's reply, Morrigan looks up sharply at him, her face a bit pale as she tries to search the others face. Her mind races.
Dasim's voice snaps her back to the present however. 'An escort? What need would one such as he need of such?', she wonders. She glances between the two, curious despite herself as to what the answer should be.
Having listened to the conversation, and hearing the hint that perhaps the ensemble would be looking for further elements, Heroden gets up and approaches the table, his longspear in hand.
"Good afternoon, my apologies for eavesdropping into your conversation. My name is Heroden, and I am myself looking for... hmmm... Employment. I had received a note to visit this here fine establishment exactly to address such objective. Mayhaps you would be the person offering such employment, and responsible for the note that reached my hands?" - he looks squarely at the stranger who had walked in the door a few moments ago.
Dasim's brow furrows into a slight frown at the stranger's somewhat elusive proposal. Before he can ask further about the proposed work, the human at the next table surprises the rider with his announcement and interest in joining the group.
Dasim had noticed the armed and armored man with the odd butterfly symbol handing from his neck sitting alone when he first walked in. At first Dasim wondered if he was the one the old man meant for him to meet. However the stranger's silence and seeming disinterest quickly caused the the young Kariv to put him out of his mind. How much had he overheard of his conversation with the others? Dasim wonders. More importantly, what were his intentions in staying silent? Quickly chastising himself for not paying more attention to the rest of the room during his conversation with Morrigan, Dasim listens closely as the man introduces himself to the stranger.
Taking another small sip from his ale, Dasim's eyes flip back to this potential employer. Curious as to see how he will respond to Heroden's question, Dasim maintains his own silence.
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Having listened to the conversation, and hearing the hint that perhaps the ensemble would be looking for further elements, Heroden gets up and approaches the table, his longspear in hand.
"Good afternoon, my apologies for eavesdropping into your conversation. My name is Heroden, and I am myself looking for... hmmm... Employment. I had received a note to visit this here fine establishment exactly to address such objective. Mayhaps you would be the person offering such employment, and responsible for the note that reached my hands?" - he looks squarely at the stranger who had walked in the door a few moments ago.
"Why, yes. I am offering employment. Please, have a seat."
Morrigan looks up as a second human approaches and addresses their 'benefactor'. She watches him intently, listening as he speaks of his own letter. Most strange. It will be interesting to see how he reacts; if he was the one sending these letters.
Her gaze returns to the shadowy figure to see how he responds. He speaks of crows... might he hold the answers I seek? But how far can we trust one from the shadow realms?
With a short bow, Heroden pulls up a chair - "Thank you. I will take a seat yes. Apologies again for my interruption and do continue"
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"Well if ya wish to depart soon maybe he shouldn't seat 'imself" The dwarf would get up, placing his empty pint to the side. "Maybe we ought to set off here, supposing our.. 'employer'.. would give us a bit more information of the job on our way out? Don't underestimate us either, I know I, at least, can hold my own, the Northlands are harsh and many years have helped to strengthen me... What is it you may have us do stranger?" The dwarf was quick to make his choice believing in setting out soon, he had reason to be suspicious of this gentlemen, but then what was the point of that? If there was something afoot there would at least be a bit of excitement for the day, so why waste time.
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"Ah. The job is rather... confidential, I'm afraid. I can tell you that you will be well compensated. Let's say 10 gold pieces per month. And the job will last three months at least. I can also say that one of your duties will be caravan guards. The caravan departs tomorrow. If you want to join it, be at the gate. As a token of good will, I will cover your expenses at this place. Rooms will wait for you when you are ready to rest."
Morrigan was still having trouble bringing herself to trust this strange benefactor, and all this talk of hidden duties and confidential purposes was doing little to settle her nerves.
Yet, her coin purse was still dangerously light and the promise of a possible thirty gold pieces would do much to allay that problem. Further, and a more weightier matter, he was the closest she'd come yet to a possible lead into her quest for answers into her own past. It is but three months, he says. Worse comes to worse, I can return then. Hopefully. Well, time to toss the dice, and let fate make its will known.
Looking over at him, she speaks. "Until the morrow then? Are there any additional or 'unusual' preparations for the journey we should make?"