5 Arodus 4714 AR
A mere eight days have passed since the torch went out.
The familiar ring of hammers striking iron can be heard all throughout town. But not on Black Hill. Without the violet flame, blacksmiths have little choice but to toil over their clumsy coal forges to make ends meet. Unwilling to let the quality of their work suffer, they continue to churn out tools and weapons deserving of being called masterworks. Yet they pale in comparison to what could be made with skymetal.
Coin continues to flow, but only at a trickle. Merchants peddle their wares on the streets, but the townsfolk seem reluctant to part with their hard-earned money. Most have little use for trinkets when their livelihoods are on the line. Meanwhile, with the town’s primary means of garbage disposal gone, waste and refuse piles on the sides of the streets, filling the air with a less than pleasant odor.
And just to make matters worse, a wave of strange headaches has been passing throughout town, making an already frustrating situation even more stressful.
Four different expeditions have entered the caves below Black Hill in hopes of finding the cause of the torch's disappearance, one among them led by none other than Councillor Khonnir Baine - but not one of them has returned. The town council has sent out an open call, practically begging for volunteers to seek out the missing councillor and hopefully bring an end to the community’s woes.
Because if they do not, then Torch is done for.
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Morgan strides into the troubled town with all of the bluster that an inheritor of orcish arrogance can manage. Her heavy steps and long gait take her through the town's roads quickly, allowing her to absorb Torch's contents in a matter of hours. Her grin is wide with every strange new sight. She had never seen anywhere so wondrous! A town inhabited by an industrious, hard-working people, filled with wonders both alchemical and mechanical, and surrounded for miles on all sides by the most fertile, verdant land she had ever seen. It's a perplexing sight that the streets aren't filled with victory orgies and drunken revelry, for these people were more successful than hers had ever hoped to become. Instead, every street and storefront was filled with frowning face after frowning face, some rubbing their heads and grimacing with pain, and others sadly counting coppers. Sweat drips from the foreheads of people desperately pounding at steel as they try to keep up with their required quota of production even as Morgan stands nearby, ogling at their prowess with the hammer and anvil.
When Morgan sets her pack and hammer down at her bunk in the town's boarding house, surprise plainly shows on her face, although she has no one to express it to. Shrugging, she leaves her heaviest things back at the bunk before heading to the Copper Coin, a tavern that she'd seen has fairly okay prices.
Though she only has a handful of silvers, Morgan is absolutely famished and gladly slams down a few of them for an ale and a plate of meat, and as she's served food, she drops her food down on a table next to a likely-looking group of people. Her smile is charming, although also intimidating due to the jutting tusks, and she loudly declares, "So what's up everyone's butts around here? This town seems great, but you're all so grumpy!"
Cruodh sighed, having spoken to every stone composing the façade of the adjacent building, there was nothing to occupy his mind anymore, and so his thoughts kept coming back to the events of the previous night. He had finally been able to track his ward Anna and sworn service to her. That had gone as well as it could have, a stranger cutting his hand and swearing a Kellid oath of fealty out of the blue must have seen suspicious, but there was no way he could explain the reason. Not now. The fact that the words he had used were usually those spoken in the most sacred of oaths must not have helped much. One more sigh. And now, he was just waiting outside Anna’s residence for her to come out, and hopefully not order him away… stalking her might be fun, but it would really just make things more awkward. Bored sigh.
In the back corner of the Coin in the shadows sits Fal keenly watching those coming and going. While most came to the tavern to rest after travelling or have a drink to wind down the day, this was neither for her. As a well known 'fixer' in Torch, her work was dependent upon finding people who needed her services and had the gold to pay. Given the proximity to the main entry into the town, the Copper Coin was one of her preferred locations to find work when she didn't already have something lined up. It didn't hurt that it also allowed her regulars to quickly find if she was free for something. Though she made a point of not drinking or eating while at the Coin often--the mask she wore made it difficult to do so unless she took the time to also bandage her head to hide her features--she did tip the bartender well when she did, and often cut them in her take from any work that got sent her way.
For nearly twenty years she'd been making a living within Torch providing a variety of services: Guide and escort, delivery or 'retrieval' of items, conveying messages, acquiring and selling information, and so on. She'd developed a reputation over the years, and the mystique in her appearance certainly enhanced that. In the town, only a couple of people knew her actual identity, and she saw no reason to change that given that the Technic League tended to go out of its way to make the lives of her kind a living hell.
For Fal, today was not much different than any other day. The town itself, however, was still reeling from the eponymous Torch going out last week. While this hadn't affected her business overall, it had moved more of it towards the less savory side. More than a few debts had been collected in the past week in the absence of the ability to work with skymetal. If this continued, it would not end well for the inhabitants of the city. Without the torch the town was not all that special, and the experts at smithing with skymetal would soon leave for other parts of Numeria.
Fal's drawn out of her thoughts when a half-orc--or at least something like one, she actually wasn't certain--begins making a ruckus at a table nearby. "The Torch has gone out," she says, offering an assessment of the situation, "without it skymetal cannot be worked. If you've come for that, your disposition may sour quickly as well."
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Morgan squints into the back of the room, looking for the source of the voice. Morgan shakes her head and waves a hand negatively, shoving a drumstick into her mouth as she does so. "Nah, m' here for work! You know of any?" She had no idea what a Torch might be (besides the handheld wooden device used to cast light) but she figured that whoever this woman was, she must be horrifically disfigured to cover her face like that. "Maybe your doctor can put me in touch with some people looking for revenge or something?" she suggests.
Wrixx carefully made his way through the Market Square, weaving around other shoppers with practiced dexterity. Occasionally a curious eye would turn toward him, though he supposed that the sight of a ratfolk wasn't that strange of a sight in a Numerian town. All the better for him. He always preferred to be able to blend in and simply fade into the background where he wasn't going to have to have to deal with troublesome people. And even better, troublesome people weren't going to bother trying to deal with him. All the better until he learned more about his partner's business dealings in Torch. Though if the town small talk was any indication, Torch might not have much business at all in the near future. That was a pity. The people seemed nice enough, and more importantly, willing to trade in the valuable sky metals. He stopped and stroked his chin as he looked over a metal worker's stall. Perhaps he should get in touch with Fal again and get some more information on local dealings while there was still business to be had. Even if his main objective was to dig up his partner's fate, turning a small profit on the trip wouldn't do anyone any harm.
A place for everything, and everything in its place.
Era didn't have a workshop in her home, given the size. She didn't even really have space for guests, unless they brought a bedroll. She kept things clean and organized, despite this. She had precisely enough flatware and silverware to eat and wash, one cooking pot, and a terrifyingly small pantry, stocked only with dried foods: She usually bought fresh, or treated herself to a cheap tavern meal. Near a window that Era couldn't seem to keep closed, there was a small nest made of straw of every color, and a small owl whose feathers were a mismatched pattern of pastels. As the little owl sat in its nest preening, the feather she was chewing on was slowly changing colors from a desaturated canary yellow to a lavender. Era absently tossed her pale blue hair. At least Tally was nice enough to leave hers all in one color... well, except for her fingernails, all dull wildlflower colors.
She stretches, having just finished cleaning up after lunch, and throws on her coat, before swinging her bag over her shoulder... work wouldn't make itself and there was still much to do. She absently wondered if the council had found anyone else to help send her down below to try to find a solution... she doubted it. Most of the heroes of the town had already gone in and not come back. As she walks to the door, it opens of its own accord, and she heads out, locking it behind her. The pastel owl flutters out the window, and lands on Era's shoulder, the window to her little rookery closing behind the pair.
Shielding her eyes, from the sun, Era looks around, frowning at the detritus that was piling up everywhere, as she let her eyes adjust to the bright light... before making her way towards the church of Brigh, where she'd continue her work.
Anna Stormarglywydd spent her morning out in the junkyard, making a few copper in exchange for carrying scrap to and fro for a group of tinkerers. Her face and arms are stained black from soot and grime, and her skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion. Behind her trots an enormous, shaggy, black wolf. After retrieving her pay from the tinkerers with a smile, she bends down and scratches behind the wolf's ears.
"Dewch, Dar'shyn, gadewch i ni ddod o hyd i rywbeth i'w fwyta," she says.
"Come, Dar'shyn, let's find something to eat."
The two walk down the street towards the boarding houses, which is where Anna has stayed these past few weeks. The beds there were too soft, but the rent was cheap. She had refused to stay with Khonnir more than a few days, for fear of imposing on him and his young ward. She spots Cruodh outside the boarding house, apparently waiting for her. For a moment she considers just walking past him. His presence made her... uncomfortable, after Kanata's death. She warned him that her llw gwaed was sure to bring her to very dangerous locations, and she cannot afford to protect someone so small and frail. But he was persistent, to say the least, and as a shaman, personally blessed by the spirits and the Green.
"Dynan," she greets. "If you wish to meet me in the morning, you must rise much earlier than that." 'The spirits of the wind and skies that morning must have been trickster gods... I can think of no other reason to send this little creature to my side, she thinks to herself.
blood oath
"Little kellid"
She sighs. The druids of her clan always said that the Green worked in mysterious ways.
"A hoffech chi fynd gyda mi i ginio?" she asks.
"Would you like to accompany me to lunch?"
The Copper Coin
Still somewhat early in the day, the tavern is emptier than usual. But even given the town's troubles, a few dozen regulars sit at the tables and bar, taking a break from their jobs to have their midday meals. Like many of the people Morgan passed on the streets, their moods are dour, several of them showing signs of outright fatigue. Their numerous murmured conversations concern mundane topics such as work quotas and ore shipments, though there are quite a few complaints about the horrid smell outside.
The woman behind the bar takes Morgan's order, handing her a mugful of the tavern's "Rusty Ale." A few moments later, a server brings her a plate of spiced lamb. As it turns out, one silver piece is more than enough to pay for the lot of it - the half-orc receives a few copper pieces left over from her coin.
It is not until she makes her rather loud remark that anyone outright regards her. More than a few dirty looks are shot in her direction, but fortunately, Fal speaks up before anyone else can make a retort. One of the patrons sitting next to Morgan - a burly dwarf with a short, black beard - lets out a mirthless chuckle.
"You must not be from around here," he says, shaking his head. "Picked a bad time to visit town. You see, there's plenty of work to go around. Just don't expect much to come of it."
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Cruodh head’s rises at the sound of Anna’s voice. Straightening himself to his full 3’8’’, he glances at her with two dark purple eyes before looking up to the sky, apparently reading the time of day from the sun’s position. When his eyes settle back on her, Anna can tell they are smiling even though his expression is otherwise neutral if not stern.
”Told you she had gone.”
”Fenyw, yr oeddwn yma drwy'r nos a phob bore ... yn ymddangos fel dianc ffilm Llinellau Haul yn gwneud i mi golli eich ymadawiad.“he says before lifting his longspear and striking the shaft twice on the ground. Seconds later, a small brown weasel with strange streaks of blue and green shining through his fur rounds the corner and, seeing Dar’shyn, proceeds to quickly climb through the hides and furs worn by Cruodh until he rests on his shoulder.
” Dweud wrthych ei bod hi wedi mynd.” says Cruodh, playfully scratching his furry friend. In return, the weasel appears to roll his eyes.
” Wrth gwrs, fe wnaf. Ble rydych chi'n mynd Rwy'n mynd nawr.” he says, his stomach giving a grumble as if on cue.
The gnome proceeds to fall in Anna and Dar’shyn’s steps, giving the later an appraising look.
” Hefyd, peidiwch â gadael i fy maint eich ffwlio, yr wyf gymaint â gnome fel yr awyr heb ysbryd”
The Temple of Brigh
Before long, Era reaches the familiar domed portico of the goddess of invention's temple. Numerous clockwork statues line the rooftop of the compound, featuring depictions of Brigh herself. At a glance, one might not be able to tell that they were all crafted out of scrap metal. Bronze wind chimes hang down from in between the temple's columns, chiming pleasantly in the breeze.
Sitting in front of the main temple is a small storefront, manned by a young man named Cecil. He has fair skin, mousy brown hair, and he wears a simple leather work apron, with the mask of Brigh engraved on its front. Laid out before him are a variety of knickknacks, including jewelry made from tiny gears and common gemstones. Meanwhile, the numerous weapon-filled racks mounted behind the storekeeper show that the shop carries plenty of more practical goods as well.
"Oh, hello Era," the acolyte says when he notices her approaching. He stifles a yawn and straightens his posture. "You're the first person to stop by today."
Tally rattles one of the locked display cases indignantly.
"Hello, Cecil. I suppose the price of sprockets are still rising?" she asks, in passing, as she heads for the workshop, before more seriously adding, "Any news on Khonnir or other volunteers for looking into the cave?"
Wrixx sighs and digs around in his coat for a few moments. "Now where did I...?" He grumbles under his breath and checks another pocket, then his belt pouch before he finds a scrap of paper he'd jotted a few notes on. "The Copper Coin... I hope he's around. I'm not getting anywhere on my own at this rate." He ducks past one of the market stalls. Maybe it was busier there than here. People did have a tendency to drink when things were hard after all. Thankfully it was nearby at least. Torch wasn't exactly big, but it still took a little while to learn how to get around the town. He heads down the road and shoulders open the door to the tavern, peeking his head inside to take a look around.
Cecil gives a half-hearted chuckle before shaking his head. "None. Not since that party from out of town stopped by a few days ago. Father Kyte told them to be careful but... they haven't come back yet either."
Anna's smile falters when Cruodh attempts to reassure her of his own strength. Kanata, after all, was one of the strongest women she ever knew. And.. She stops her train of thought right there. No point in dwelling in the past. "Gallai hynny fod felly, dynan, ond mae gen i ormod o farwolaethau ar fy nghydwybod. Ond os ydych mor awyddus i hedfan at eich gweddill ochr yn ochr â mi, ni fyddaf yn rhoi'r gorau i chi," she says, rather seriously.
"That may be so, little kellid, but I already have one too many deaths on my conscience. But if you are so eager to fly to your demise alongside me, then I will not be the one to stop you."
"Ond ar hyn o bryd mae'r haul yn uchel ac mae angen diod cryf. Dewch, dynan!" she exclaims, and the pair head to the other side of town, to the Copper Coin.
"But for now the sun is high and I am in need of a good, strong drink. Come, little kellid."
When they arrive, Anna stops at the door. For whatever reason city-dwellers were often alarmed at the size of her fierce companion - pah, southerners - "Arhoswch, Dar'shyn. Byddaf yn ôl yn fuan," says Anna, patting her wolf on the head. He obediently lays down next to the door, much to the dismay of anyone attempting to enter the tavern now with a fear of large canines.
"Stay, Dar'shyn. I will be back soon."
She shoves the door open noisily and steps in - still dirty, sweaty, and smelly from her labor outdoors. Once inside, she plops herself down on a stool as close to the bartender that she can find, and exclaims, "Bartender! The largest mug of ale you have, and the largest plate of meat." While she waits for her food, she listens in on conversations around her - listening for news of Khonnir, or of any metallic monsters seen around town. Her right hand idly traces the handle of the axe she keeps at her side, as if seeking reassurance it was still there.
The Copper Coin
When Wrixx and Anna enter The Copper Coin, they find it experiencing its usual lunchtime rush, though the enthusiasm that goes with it is conspicuously absent. A few dozen patrons fill the well-furnished tavern, most of them human, with a smattering of dwarves and half-orcs. In addition, an individual wearing a strange mask sits in a shadowy back corner of the room, apart from everyone else. Anna finds that she isn’t too out of place here - plenty of the humans are distinctly Kellid, and everyone is still a bit dirty from work. Wrixx receives a few sidelong glances, but ratfolk are hardly unheard of in Torch.
Apparently accustomed to customers ordering their meals in such a fashion, the bartender - a willowy woman with auburn hair touched by a few strands of gray - quickly fetches Anna a mug of Rusty Ale and shouts her order through the kitchen door. ”I need a double out here!”
Rather promptly, she is handed a plate stacked with spiced lamb, which is promptly set down in front of Anna.
"I haven't need of a doctor, and a doctor would be a poor choice for finding the sort of work you appear to be interested in." she says, clearly missing the implied point about her face. Beckoning Moragn over, she adds "I can, however, put you in touch with those who might be in need of your services. What skills do you possess?" It was usually worth giving some amount of information or guidance for free, as in the long run she usually netted significant amounts from repeat customers. After all, her reputation had much to do with the prices she could charge for her services, and providing aid to others had clearly proven to be the most efficient way of raising her notoriety within the town.
Wrixx sighs as he gets a few more sidelong glances. Do people really have nothing better to do than to gawk and something new? If the mentions he's heard in town are right, the pair who own this place are suppose to be quite the hosts. Surely they should be focusing on the lovely smell coming from the kitchen. He catches sight of a familiar mask across the room and scurries through the crowd, ducking around a couple of tables to avoid getting in anyone's way. He stops when he sees Fal already in conversation with one of the half-orcs. He smiles and waves to the masked guide, but says nothing, not wanting to interrupt.
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Morgan sits a bit back. She didn't have need of a doctor? Strange. Maybe she had a birth defect, then. She moves to sit closer to Fal, taking her plate of lamb and her ale. When asked about her skillset, she just pats her bicep, totally visible because of her sleeveless shirt and armor. "I'm a fighter," she says. She beckons at the random who had told her off a moment ago. "How come he says the work will do no good? Surely someone has a score to settle but hasn't the muscles to do it. Surely there are beasts that need slaying."
The nearby door opens of its own accord and Tally flutters through. "You neglected to greet Tally, again. You know how she hates that. I was really hoping for the sprockets to dip back down in price, so I could get to work on the winding mechanism. I suppose I'll go back to working on gear ratios again. It's very difficult to keep perfect time without a steady crank, a pendulum, or a flow of water. Hm... Or I could work on the chain mechanism." At some point, it became less about talking to Cecil and more about her current project - not at all uncommon, as Era's sharing her train of thought tended to lead to her sinking into it. "Would that there were more reliable power sources." she says as she goes through the door, moving over to her workspace to begin the day anew. "I've offered to go down into the tunnels if they can find anyone who is able to keep me at least relatively safe." she says, as she starts to meddle with her blueprints again for certainly-not-the-last time.
The Temple of Brigh
Cecil sighs at Era's reminder and gives the owl a wave, having long grown used to the familiar flying around indoors. Of course, that did not stop him from forgetting that she was no mere animal. "Right. Hello, Tally."
"That might be asking for too much," he remarks, though it is initially unclear as to whether he's referring to Era's desire for sprockets or for a bodyguard. Deciding that manning the storefront is a lost cause, he steps out from behind the counter and follows after her. "There's no telling what happened to Khonnir and the others. Are you really thinking about going down there?"
Era finds her workspace exactly as she last left it, respectfully untouched by the acolytes that kept the temple tidy. Likewise, a half dozen other benches in the workshop are similarly undisturbed, covered with all kinds of tools, diagrams, and half-finished projects. Shelves line the walls of the workshop, filled with boxes containing all manners of mechanical parts: gears, screws, washers, chain links, dials, pins, wheels, sprockets, nobs, dials, and more, all meticulously organized by length, diameter, and numerous other attributes that one unacquainted with machinery might not be able to discern.
Cecil starts to absentmindedly sort through the boxes containing finding the sprockets, finding that they are indeed running a little empty. "Hm. Must have lost track, with everything that's been going on. You could always visit Junkmaster Burrwaddle - he might have some in stock."
"Yes. I understand how hopeless it is, but it's certainly less hopeless than remaining up here, and willing it to be better. Brigh blesses those who look for a solution, not those who wait for one." she says, looking over one of her sprockets before putting it back into the collective. "Perhaps there is a simpler answer. I suppose you're right. I could likely find just what I'm looking for within someone else's previous inventions. Thank you, Cecil." Era says, turning and leaving her schemata readily visible for any to see. The fact that they were always constant works-in-progress to make up for other changes to the system meant that there would be no stealing, and likewise, her intent was to share, to begin with.
"Wish me luck on finding a bit of inspiration." she offers to Cecil, moving to the door, which was still open, causing Tally to flutter down and perch on her shoulder once more. The exit door opens of its own accord once more. "Do you know if anyone else needs anything to be picked up?"
"I wish I could share your optimism," Cecil admits as he noisily sifts through the other boxes on the shelf. "Father Kyte's, too. He said the council doubled the bounty, so I imagine there should be another expedition sooner than later. That'd be your ticket down there, I guess."
Turning away from the shelves, he shakes his head at Era's last question. "I don't think so. Or I'm not sure, rather. Some of the others have been too busy nursing their headaches to get any work done. Not 'conducive to the creative process', they said. But thanks."
"There are jobs for guards and the like, yes," she says, answering the troublesome half-orc despite her not asking directly. "I do not know what remote village you came from, but here in Torch, and in larger cities one does not seek such work from the healer." she says incredulously. "Do you have any skills beyond fighting?" People with muscle were not uncommon in Torch. The high density of blacksmiths demanded it, after all. When matching people to jobs then, it was important for Fal to consider all their talents, not merely what they thought to play up, which most often was their physical strength.
Anna grins. "Excellent! Beautiful Katina, may your casks never run dry," she raises her mug before promptly downing half of it in one swig. She means to eavesdrop on the table behind her - there were some faces in here she didn't recognize, who perhaps knew of her quarry - but she is distracted when Katina turns her back to her and bends over to fetch something from a bottom cabinet. She then takes her time to savor the ale - and the view from over the rim of her mug - before deciding to look the other way lest the barkeep notice her leering.
"Lawton of clan Rimos," Anna says, whenever he next passes by. "Have you heard new word of the last group of warriors who left for the caves of the Black Hill?"
Wrixx absently taps his foot, but it seems that the half-orc isn't going to be leaving any time soon. He pulls a coin from his purse and absently rolls it back and forth over his long fingers to keep himself amused, the gold flashing slightly as it flips back and forth. He finally sighs and lets it drop back into his pocket. "A little brain to go with that brawn is usually a good start," the ratfolk interrupts. "And usually a town that's in less dire straits. No offense intended, but I think everyone already knows that Torch's trouble isn't as simple as smashing a few heads in." He nods to Fal. "Fal, good to see you again."
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Morgan shrugs. "I know nothing of Torch's trouble. I arrived today, and have never been here before," she says. "As for other skills... I know something of magic, and can smell its lingering traces easily." She grins, pushing out her long tusks, "and I bite worse than I bark," she adds.
She turns down to the small rat-person and then back up to the deformed woman. "And who are you, small one? And you, masked woman? I am Morgan, of..." she struggles to think of something to say other than "the Boneshaker tribe", but it's too late. "...of nothing," she adds lamely.
"Well, that explains quite a lot," Wrixx says. "Wrixx of Farhaven, a fair ways to the south. Co-owner of a fine river boat that conveys completely legitimately acquired goods through the River Kingdoms. And it seems like Torch's livelihood might be on its last legs. The big flame they've been using to work their lovely skymetal is well... gone. I don't know the exact detail as I've only been here about ten days myself, but it's quite the unfortunate situation."
"Not optimism. Pragmatism and realism. If nothing changes, then we only stand to lose. Certainly, it would be better for someone else to solve all of our problems... but one cannot simply wait for a solution." she says with a shrug, getting a flutter of wings in response from Tally. Clearly, she agreed.
And so, Era and Tally head towards the northern end of town, suspecting that she would find precious little in the way of what she needed, but the scrap yard had always had a soothing effect, regardless. Nevermind that she had spent the previous day's migraine sitting in the location, looking at the various contraptions Burrwaddle had turned up. There was no small amount of hope that the old options would turn up a viable solution to new issues... and there was always the benefit of puzzling out what an object could be used for that it wasn't presently being used for.
"Very unfortunate," she adds to Wrixx's statement, " and hello to you as well Wrixx. Hopefully this morning finds you well." Turning back to Morgan, she answers "I am Fal, or often 'The Fixer' within this city. I provide solutions to problems, answers to questions, and resolution of dilemmas to the citizens of Torch."
Fal is somewhat surprised to hear Morgan hasn't heard of the problems within Torch. "You are familiar with the 'why' of the name of this city, yes? That flame has gone out as Wrixx says. They've sent in adventurers to determine what has happened, but there has been no further contact with them since their ingress."
Mirroring Anna’s expression, Cruodh’s becomes more solemn.
"Marwolaeth .... Rhaid i bawb ei wynebu. " the small kellid says cryptically as he absent mindedly passes a hand through his hair, momentarily unveiling two hidden white strands. "... mae bywyd ond un brwsh hir â marwolaeth, hebddo ni fyddai bywyd, byddai popeth yn diflannu i lawr ac yn stondin am byth, y gwirodydd a gafodd eu hanfod iawn ... ahhh, rwyf wedi bod yn cryptic, nid wyf fi ..." Cruodh’s eyes begin to smile again, retrieving a sharpness that had briefly lost. "Mae gennyf fy rhesymau i'ch dilyn chi ac os ydynt yn arwain at farwolaeth, yna felly. Dim ond yn gwybod y gallwch ymddiried ynddo fi yn y frwydr a gwybod na fydd fy marwolaeth yn gorwedd ar eich cydwybod am y dydd hwn rwy'n ymrwymo i farwolaeth, nid yn eich enw chi, ond yn fy mhen i. " Cruodh finishes, his voice devoid of bravado and instead reflecting a strange determination.
Cruodh looks up at the tall building nods to Dar’shyn, and enters the inn with Anna.
” Oeddech chi'n gwybod am leoedd fel y Llinellau Haul hwn” he whispers to the weasel on his shoulder as they walk in.
As he approaches the bar, Cruoch looks at a bar stool, tilts his head to the side, touches it, seems lost in thought for a moment and then climbs it to the best of his ability and trying to keep as much of his dignity as possible. Once seated he waits, listens to Anna intently and then makes his own order. A place to command food… so that’s how city operate, huh!
”Moose meat.” he simply says to the bartender.
While eating Cruodh slowly turns around, and looks at the few patrons, his eyes darting with curiosity from person to person until they come to rest and the most unusual group, a gray skinned half-orc, a masked figured, and an oversize dressed-up rat. His curious smiling gaze remains on them for quite a while as he begins silently tapping one of his stool’s leg with his foot repeatedly, as if containing some form of energy or excitement. In the end, his attention is drawn away when Anna speaks to a gnome.
The Copper Coin
Eventually Lawton emerges from the kitchen, handing off bowls of soup to one of the tavern's servers. The man shares his sister's auburn hair, with a gray-flecked beard and short-cropped haircut.
"About Khonnir's lot? None at all, I'm afraid," he replies gravely, stopping by the bar to grab a drink. Katina shoots him a dirty look, but says nothing. "The councilor had some capable folks with him. That they have not yet returned does not bode well at all. Still, I would not give up hope just yet. That man is nothing if not resourceful."
He then gives Cruodh a quizzical look. "Moose meat? We don't have any of that, I'm afraid. We've got lamb, chicken, pork, beef..."
Anna shoves a chunk of lamb the size of half of her face into her mouth, and chews it while Lawton speaks. She spits out a piece of bone onto her plate before responding, "So why hasn't your leader sent more warriors to go look for them, already?"
Junkyard
All along the road north, Era finds herself immersed in the stench of garbage. At one point she passes by a handful of workers diligently shoveling some of the refuse onto a cart, much as they would back when the torch was lit. Only now, there was no telling where they intended to take it. Thankfully, by the time she reaches the junkyard, the smell has mostly dissipated - there garbage here is of a different sort.
Large piles of junk dot this corner of town, filled with unprofitable components and debris smelted for skymetal. They are stacked high, but not so precariously that they would crush an unsuspecting scavenger. Sitting near the entrance of the junkyard is a modest little house, constructed as a gift for the town's resident Junkmaster.
Era does not have to search long for the gnome; she quickly spots his silhouette halfway up a nearby junk pile, rummaging through it with the assistance of a metal pole. Every now and then he picks something up and scrutinizes it, before either bagging it or tossing it over his shoulder.
Era waits, unwilling to startle the gnome as he climbs, simply waits for the gnome to take notice of her. Tally, less willing to simply wait around and do nothing begins to slowly adjust the color of the things he has thrown away, adding a myriad of white polka dots to a gear-and-axle device.
The Copper Coin
"The town doesn't exactly have warriors at its disposal," Lawton explains, leaning against the bartop. "There's the guards, the militia... and that's about it. So the best the council can do is wave around a fat sack of coin and hope some adventurous types take the bait."
"Hmmm... Very well..." Fal says, thinking for a moment. It's true that the town might need someone to investigate, and she certainly knew enough people to put together a group willing to take the risk. Plus Era would likely be eager to go in after Khonnir, and she owed a lot to the girl. After all, Fal likely never would've activated her powers by herself. It was only Era's knowledge of her former life that had allowed her that. "Wrixx, would you be interested in some work? With Morgan here, perhaps the three of us can take care of investigating the cave Khonnir went into. I know someone else who would likely jump at the chance, which makes four. That is a good beginning. If we can secure a couple more we could likely get permission to enter, and collect the reward if we succeed."
Junkyard
Era finds herself waiting for quite a while, as Garritt Burrwaddle is perfectly content taking his time, utterly oblivious to her presence. Eventually however, he descends the garbage-covered slope, a feat he has grown quite proficient in over the years. Only once he has reached the bottom does he finally notice the wizard.
"Ah. Era. Good to see you," the pale gnome says, looking up at her with his large eyes. Like his shock of spiky hair and bleached white skin, they are as white as can be. The Junkmaster starts to make his way over to his home, beckoning her to follow with a gesture that would be inscrutable to those unfamiliar with him. "Not much new junk these days. But plenty left to be found. My collection grows. What do you need?"
"Are the people here so cowardly that they would require bribery to do what is needed to help a good man?" Anna frowns. "Hmph. Deiliaid. Beth sy'n dda yw milisia os nad ydynt yn gwneud dim i helpu eu pobl eu hunain." She would take five good kellid berserkers over twenty militia any day of the week.
But then she overhears Fal's conversation. Ah. Now there's a group of people worth talking to. She stands up from the bar, pushing her stool away and strides over to the group in the corner.
"If you plan to leave for the caves below the hill, you have my blade," She draws her axe and slams it into the center of the table, its blade digging into the wood. It's a beautiful weapon, with a blade made of cold iron and intricate bronze engravings along the side. Even the leather wrapped around the handle is embossed in intricate knot-patterns. "I am Anna of clan Stormlord," she says, offering her hand to Fal for a handshake.
Wrixx clicks his tongue, flexing his hands and drumming his long fingers against the table for a few moments. Going off on mad adventures was rarely good business. But he wasn't going to let cowardice stop him from taking care of what needed to be done. And the locals might be forthcoming with information if he helped save their town. "Well, I don't exactly favor picking fights. But... if my business here goes belly up, I'm losing out on a fair bit of coin anyway. And earning a little local good will could be handy in the future. As long as you and tall, green, and muscly over there stay between me and anything with a lot of teeth."
The ratfolk falls silent as the tall Kellid woman came to join them. He was used to being the shortest one in the room, but these warrior types really took the cake. And this one was rather dramatic wasn't she. "Say what you will," he says with a shrug. "You're welcome to stay in the front too, if you're coming along." His eyes flick to the ornate ax, looking over the complex filigree. Either it was an heirloom, or the warrior woman was making a decent profit, regardless of whether she took charity cases or not.
Fal returns the handshake. "Croeso ar y bwrdd, Anna clan Stormarglwydd" she says in Hallit that is a little too perfect and rigid. "And welcome aboard as well as well, Morgan and Wrixx. We should head to meet Era, she has worked closely with Khonnir as well, and will be interested in investigating the cave."
Anna flashes a rogueish grin at Fal. She clasps her hand in a vice-like grip, testing the other woman's strength - a common greeting amongst Kellids.
Once she lets her hand go, she pulls her axe back out of the table. With her free hand she gestures to Cruodh, beckoning him over. "This is my companion, Cruodh. Where I go, Cruodh goes. He is a man blessed by the spirits of the land and sky."
Though her frame was literally not built with strength in mind, she nevertheless returns the grip with almost all she has. To do otherwise would be a mistake, given nature of the kellid greeting Anna was using. Were she to actively draw on her inner reserves Fal might have been able to best the barbarian at her own game, but her identity had remained shrouded in mystery for this long, and she was not about to risk that on the off chance she might be able to best the kellid at her own game.
"Your strength is quite impressive, Anna, but I am afraid that my muscles are not what earns my living. Morgan, however was boasting just a moment ago. And another adventurer would certainly be welcome. Hello Cruodh, what is it that you excel at?"
Anna grins. The masked woman was stronger than her arms would suggest. And she spoke Hallit! Normally, she wouldn't trust someone who wore a mask - her grandmother always told her that a person who avoided looking another in the eyes must have something dark to hide - but perhaps this one had a good reason?
"O? Rydych chi'n rhy ddrwg. Mae cryfder yn eich dwylo i gyd-fynd â'ch geiriau," she responds.
"Oh? You are too humble. There is strength in your hands to match your words."
She turns to look at Morgan, glancing her up and down.... then again for good measure. She was certainly well built "Morgan, is it? Good... good.. we will need your strength to overcome whatever metallic beasts lie in wait below the hill. Let us fight and win and drink to our victories or fight and die and drink in the next life - either way, better than not fighting at all, yes?"
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Morgan grins as the company grows, and out of nowhere, work and enemies and friends are all acquired at once. Truly, she must be blessed with good fortune to have so many good things happen at once. She sizes up their new companions - the rat, the gnome, and the Kellid.
"Right you are," she says, agreeing with Anna. She reaches out to clasp the human's hand firmly, adding, "To show your power to your enemies, to crush them beneath your feet, is the motivation that drives us. And those not strong enough don't deserve life anyhow."
"Beef then." Cruodh absentmindedly answers to the bartender before slipping down from the stool and walking to the others at Anna's bequest.
As he crosses the room his intense gaze goes from person to person. His steps are measured and show confidence. However, to one looking more closely, there seem to be a springiness to his steps, as if an intense excitement was being reigned in.
Cruoch comes to a stop next to Anna, close enough to make it obvious that they are a pair within the assembled group.
"Well met to all. Wrixx, Fal, and Morgan." he says stepping toward each of them to shake hands, and stares deeply in the eyes of each of them. The stare is not meant to dominate, but appears to be evaluating then. It lingers longer on Wrixx.
"An this is Llinellau Haul." he adds pointing at the weasel on his shoulder. Strangely, the animal appears to glow in the manner that marks on androids glow, and it completely ignores them.
"I am a shaman, I speak to the spirits of the land and sometimes they answer ..." he adds with a smirk. "when they do, they lend me their strenght to heal, move the elements and many more things."