Henry Southgard clears his throat. "It was my idea to disguise Quick as a prisoner. Earlier this morning, we came across a band of Dawnflower knights on the road, and we barely managed to convince them that Quick is not a spy for the Orcs. When we came up over the hill, I saw thousands of people driven from their homes by the invaders, and I knew we'd have to prove Quick's innocence a hundred times over before we reached the city gate. I thought that this way, we'd only have to prove him innocent the one time."
The mercenary looks over his shoulder at the city gate, shrugs, and adds "Seems to have worked."
Vylyra has a slight look of embarrassment as she mutters, "We really could not think of a better way. I apologize. You are right though, we need to get this message on as swiftly as possible."
"Exactly!" says Quick enthusiastically. "It was all for expedience sake. I didn't even want to do it, but they convinced me and, as Henry said, it did work."
He continues, more sheepishly, "The bag of heads was unfortunate, but we DID do the realm a service in removing those bandits and, since we were coming here anyway, we thought we should bring them as proof. I actually hoped for a boon or three?" He cocks a hopeful eyebrow at the knight and shrugs when met with a stony stare. "Anyway, our intentions are good and, as you yourself said, we're harmless. I need to see the court wizard on a matter of some import regarding dragons. I'm actually a priest...kind of...thing..."
Quick looks at Henry with a "Fix it! I'm rambling!" look
For his part Ajaxx sits atop his horse watching the diplomacy unfold. Wanting to look as non-threatening as possible Ajaxx pulls out his ball of yarn and crochet hook. Pausing for a moment Ajaxx looses track of the conversation and decides he is going to start a towel. Always nice to have a towel.
The Dawnflower knight opens his mouth to say something to Henry, but waits when the others have more to say. He shakes his head at Quick. “A service, perhaps, but it sets a dubious precedent to reward such behavior. What if these ‘bandits’ had come in your head, saying you waylaid them?”
“And I would not offend your Lady’s stout companions by calling them harmless. In fact all three of them appear to be quite capable. I’m just talking about you,” the knight holds a stern expression, but Quick notices a twitch of his lip, a suppressed smile. “The court wizard Dacius is not seeing any guests. There is a war going on, and the king is on bedrest, so until Prince Titus returns from his quest, the court wizard and his council must do their best to keep the good people of these lands safe.”
“If you go to the gates of the castle, you can submit a request for audience with the court wizard. However, he decreed four days ago to forestall all such requests until this invasion is under control. So it may be quite a long time before your audience is permitted.”
The knight looks Quick up and down, and softens his tone somewhat with a question. “I see no symbols of faith, none that I recognize anyway. Which god do you serve, Priest?”
Without looking up from his crochet Ajaxx speaks up."Well if we go help the Titus with his 'quest' the wizard will be freed up to see about your..." Ajaxx looks up to stare inquisitively at Quick. "What do you want with the wizard any way?" Returning to his crochet not waiting for an answer. "So ya all we have to do is go get Titus." realizing what he said he looks up at the knights "And help him. Don't worry no funny business."
"I do not display my Holy Symbol. I serve Apsu, Maker of All. Without the Waybringer, the other gods would not exist." Quick says matter of factly, then blushes and adds. "Not meaning any offense mind. The Dawnflower is a worthy mistress and no mistake. I only meant that even she has her being from elsewhere."
THe young Orc shakes his head as if to clear it and moves on. "You make a fair point about the rewards that I had not considered. I accept your wisdom in this. And no, my lady is not harmless, nor are these two men. But we are all good people and I am sure they will join me in saying that we mean no harm to any true citizen of Thalenial."
"And we are sorry to hear about the King's plight. If I cannot see the Wizard until the Prince returns, then I, at least with Ajaxx, will find him and bring him home."
"I will try at the gates first, even so. I must needs speak with Dacius and a matter most relevant to the safety of the Kingdom."
"Now, if we have satisfied you for the time being, may we go about our business, and can you recommend a place to stay if our plans fall through?"
The Dawnflower knight waves a hand dismissively, glancing from Quick to Ajaxx. “Dacius has the return of Prince Titus handled. Riders were sent after him and he should be back in this city any day. The best way you can aid the realm is to enlist in the levies and repel the orc invaders.”
When the half-orc reiterates his need to speak with Dacius, the knight presses his lips together. “You must understand, you are not the only person who claims to have pressing news for the wizard’s ears only. So we who follow the wizard’s decree must treat every claim with skepticism.”
He looks to the guard beside him. “Remove his irons. You are free to continue into the city, but be warned, half-orc: anyone of orcish descent is not permitted to carry weapons within city walls. The fine men of the watch do their best to keep the city streets safe, so if you feel threatened in any way, seek them out.”
“Sorry about the misunderstanding,” stammers the guard as he unlocks the manacles from Quick’s wrists. “If you’re looking for a room to rent, take this road until it intersects with another wide road. Those corners have two taverns that both have a few rooms, and a proper inn one block to the right.”
The knight gestures that the four may go, and turns back to Bauldir’s gate.
“Oh, and valet…!” he calls an afterthought to Henry, “Deceit is unbecoming of a noblewoman’s staff. I encourage you towards more honorable conduct for the future. Good day to you all.”
Quick almost manages to keep the scowl from his face at the mention of his being restricted from carrying weapons. Even so, he does not comment until well away from the knights.
"Ajaxx, would you carry my falchion and get it to me if we end up in a pinch?"
Taking the sword and ruffling Quick's hair Ajaxx chuckles. "Of course I'll carry your sword. But if you have spells why do you need a sword?"
Quick looks around exasperated, when he is sure no one heard the big man, the young half-orc punches him ineffectually in the hard muscle of his chest. "Idiot! No one can know what I am capable of. You think I have troubles now..." He continues, less angrily. "I need the sword to defend myself. Please, I've dealt with enough chiding for today."
Ajaxx shrugs "That's fair." Stretching and strapping the sword on his hip next to his flail Ajaxx looks around. "Whelp I feel like getting a drink. Who is with me?"
Many the city inhabitants are unhappy about the influx of people who flocked to the capital for protection. Others are making the best of it by drumming up extra business. An inn called The Next Best Beer is one of the few establishments that have not gouged their prices in response to the high demand of rooms. Another such a place is called The Tawny Toad.
Fishermen who sail the King’s Lake claim they see strange blinking lights along the surface of the enormous lake. Some speculate ghosts, others say a sea monster, but skeptics think the fishermen should save their drinking for the dockside bars.
Nearly two weeks ago, a tournament named one of Thaleniel’s street rats a champion, alongside three others: a Dawnflower apprentice, a wild highlander, and a druid with a grey tiger. The Boar and Beetle had the honor of serving the heroes before they left the city. Something of a bar fight broke out that night as folk drank deeper into their cups, and many patrons claim that they were there in the thick of the brawl, shoulder to shoulder with the Thaleniel champions.
The richest parts of the city surround the fortress -mostly the manors of nobility and high-end establishments, along with the temple of Abadar and the Atheneum Arcana, an exclusive library for magical learning. The poorest areas are near the outer walls of the city, and near the docks on the King’s Lake.
A merchant Druane near the west gate is selling quality arms and armor at a discounted price. Some question the quality he claims while others are eager to equip themselves in these troubled times. Either way, his stock is selling out quickly.
Old crone Miller, a fortune teller by trade, has closed up her booth and wanders the streets, and loudly rants to anyone who meets her eye about the “great black bear that will eat us all”. Yesterday morning she was found weeping at the feet of the public Erastil shrine one block from the northern gate.
A large family of hobbits rented all the rooms for eight nights in the Ugly Squash, but their rooms have remained empty after the first night of their stay. No one has seen them in four days, and the innkeeper now fearfully warns all his patrons not to linger in the streets after nightfall.
Not very many know about the fancy ball scheduled to take place in three days. Invitations were only sent to some of the highborn nobles and other people of prestige. The party will be held in the royal castle, hosted by Court Wizard Mortimer Dacius, who is breaking away from his seclusion for this special occasion. It is anticipated to be the gala of the year, gathering the finest food, drink, entertainment, and company into one hall. This ball is so extravagant and exclusive, almost goes unsaid that one needs to bring the invitation to the event in order to enter. Invites are hard to come by, but some nobles might not attend for their own reasons.
A band of thugs dressed in black stalk the streets at night. Street rats have heard them refer to their leader as “Hook”. They were the ones who subdued and captured the half-orc assassins not so long ago, but the city watchmen took the credit for it. The city urchins know to avoid the secretive gang, or risk disappearing forever.
Vylyra has a somewhat surprised look on her face, as she says, "We must deliver this message with hast. Damn the grog! If I must go on my own, I shall. With that she begins to turn in the direction she thinks might be correct.
Looking around at her companions confused expressions, it suddenly dawns on her that the letter has already departed their possession. She says, "Maybe I do need a drink...I am out of sorts from that encounter. I honestly did not expect to be get out of that unscathed. To the inn!" She turns about and joins them in the pub for probably three too many drinks. While sitting amongst the crowds, she listens intently to the individuals around her for local gossip and news, however, she is too drunk to remember anything she hears.
'And just what do you consider a weapon?' Henry Southgard wonders. To be on the safe side, Quick had better not pick up any barstools.
"I'm with you," Henry says to Ajaxx. "After all we've been through? I need a freakin' drink."
There was also the problem that there was a finite supply of alcohol in the land, and hardship drove people to drink more than they normally would. Worse, the invasion had concentrated the population without concentrating the beer supply. From experience, Henry estimated that the city of Thaleniel had perhaps until the end of the week until it was completely dry.
Ajaxx leads the way into the nearest pub. The tavern has a wooden sign hanging above the door with the painted image of a golden fish biting fiercely onto a shocked fisherman's finger. Painted above the threshold of the doorway reads the name of the establishment: The Fearless Cod.
The patrons inside are already well into their cups, and the adventurers must raise their voices to be heard by their companions over the din of conversation and occasional laughter. A musician in the corner strums away at a lyre in her lap, though it seems that only the nearest tables can hear the music. At the bar, a portly dwarf is busy between refilling tankards from the large keg and giving orders to the kitchen staff. The tavern smells of malty beer, beef stew, and baked bread. Two barmaids hurriedly weave their way through the tables to serve the many customers. Opposite to the lyre-player, a crackling fire burns in the hearth.
The crowd appears to be in good spirits, and a brief scan finds an even mix of peasants, workers, and tradesmen. Every other drinker seems to have a harrowing tale of their flight from the countryside to the safety of the capital city. Many of the wooden chairs and tables are taken, but as luck would have it, a small group appear to be leaving their table just as the defenders of Port Elam adjust to the noise, dim lighting, and the smell. A barmaid hastily wipes the table free of crumbs and gestures that they have a seat.
Quick listens to the talk in the streets and pricks up his ears at anything useful. When he hears mention of the ball, he rushes from the bar back to Henry and the others, whispering excitedly.
"There's a way to see the wizard! We just need to get an invitation. Can we do that and handle the drow?"
Stabling the horses and Ajaxx removes his armor and leaves it tightly packed in the wagon before he slides the mythril on and a shirt over that. He then as nonchalantly as he can grabs out the black fiddle. Entering the tavern Ajaxx takes a deep breath and smiles. He is home. He finds a table as close to the stage as he can and orders the Cod and a drink for himself as well as food and drink for the rest of the party. "This one is on me." he chuckles.
After a drink and food Ajaxx will attempt to start a arm wrestling contest.
As he does this he will keep his eye on the gal on the stage.
After the arm wrestling Ajaxx will pull out his fiddle and see if he can play along with the nice gal on stage.
While he is still learning, he attempts to charm the musician. If he is allowed he will join the gal and play with her to charm the crowd. When it is appropriate he will ask questions and work the crowd.
Each of Ajaxx's companions receives a tankard of ale and a wooden plate holding a grilled cod and fried potato wedges.
It does not take long for Ajaxx to draw a few arm wrestling challengers. First, a goatherd who was already six or seven cups deep into inebriation. The back of his hand slammed down immediately. Next, a young and lean blacksmith's apprentice, who was quick to take the upperhand, but the experienced mercenary made slow progress until the youth's arm was firmly pressed onto the table. Another arm-wrestler sits down to challenge Ajaxx, but his efforts are so unremarkable he is scarcely memorable. Already many people crowd around the contest of strength, but Ajaxx is still able to catch a glimpse of the lyre-player through the crowd. She spares a look of curiosity at the contest but returns her attention to her strings.
Somehow, Ajaxx's tankard is refilled yet again. Just then, a fourth contestant: a burly man with big arms. Some hired muscle who works uptown, keeping a noble family's estate secure. He squares off against Ajaxx, and the two strain against each other's strength equally for several seconds. Long enough for onlookers to start chanting "Ajaxx" or "Sal", depending on who they want to win. It is in that moment, the mercenary locks eyes with his opponent, and Ajaxx knows his victory is at hand, if he can demoralize the burly man across the table. Masking his effort with a casual yawn, he turns aside and begins to chug the entire tankard of ale. The crowd hollers and pounds on the table at this, and Ajaxx the Wall can feel strong Sal's resolve affecting his arm. Slowly, painstakingly so, Ajaxx's arm inches overtop. With a refreshed gasp, the empty cup leaves the mercenary's frothy moustache, and Ajaxx seizes his moment! The tankard and Sal's ham-sized fist slam onto the table simultaneously.
Sal wrings his hand as Ajaxx feels dozens of hands pat him vigorously on the back and shoulders. The goatherd buys him another ale in congratulations, and another who had placed a bet gives him two silver pieces in thanks. It takes some time for the excitement to die down, but everyone in the tavern knows the face of Ajaxx and raise a cup when they catch his eye.
The musician smiles quietly at him when he approaches the tiny stage with his darkwood fiddle. He manages to hit all the right notes for the slow, cheery song, earning looks of surprise from more than just the lyre-player. The musical strongman keeps up for three songs until the woman tries a faster, more complex tune. He bows and takes his leave when he recognizes skill beyond his own. That's when he realizes his cup is empty. How does that keep happening?
Rejoining the crowd, beer in hand, Ajaxx makes small talk with the locals. They tell him of all the excitement on the roads and in the city, but much of it is lost in memories made murky by the booze. Before he realizes it, another patron has paid for his refill. The night goes on, the lilting lyre intermingling with the din of conversation.
There was a line, and Henry Southgard had crossed it. And it wasn't the first time. And it was always a shock to the system, a horrible realization that sent him crawling back swearing that he'd never do it again. But he did. It was as inevitable as sunrise and sunset.
In this case, the line was about three tankards of beer.
The line had also been drawn through that redheaded woman's throat. As a highwayman, a criminal, she deserved to be brought to justice. Even in a war-torn nation, in the absence of law, justice could be present. At its most basic form, justice was about integrity. It could be an agreement between two men, so long as a dispute was settled and the deal was honest. Even on the battlefield, everyone painted themselves in their lord's colors and took up arms with the open intent of killing each other.
That didn't remotely describe what he'd done to the woman. He promised to set her free, and then he'd cut her throat. That made it murder.
As he starts on his fourth tankard, Henry mulls over Quick's question. "Should be. I think we'll need a referral. We want somebody official to want us to see the wizard, or we need the wizard to want to see us. Know any miracle cures for royal illnesses?"
Vylyra sits in her chair avoiding any reason to make small talk with patrons. She continues listening ( ), and cannot help but smirk at Ajaxx and his enjoyable performance. She continues to drink, and as she does becomes less and less aware of the pain withing.
Where is he? Why did he leave? What was the last thing she said...was it too harsh? It doesn't matter now...nothing matters now.
She bows her head and tears well in her eyes, though she is unsure if anyone can tell.
Quick blinks. "I do not. Can't..." He leans in whispering. "Can't you just steal one? You're a mercenary..."
"Miracle cures don't just sit around for the taking," Henry Southgard says. "If there was a cure for the King's condition that I could steal, then the palace would have bought it, or taken it outright, or the palace wizard would know how it works and duplicate it. Last I heard, a paladin was sent to fetch a cure from distant parts. We need a faster path to the palace wizard."
The mercenary swirls the last dregs of his beer in his tankard, drinks it dry, and thinks.
"Say... You're the high priest of Apsu now... What if we, we go to the palace and convince them to let you heal the king? That'll get you close to Mortimer, and they might be desperate enough to let you try."
The night begins to give way the morning sun the great city of Thaleniel, and the adventurers begin to stir in their beds. A night of deep sleep seems to have restored their tired muscles and bones, until vague memories of the boozy night come tumbling in, a tumultuous roiling that gathers in their bellies.
The half-orc wakes just in time to eject his upset stomach into a tin chamber pot in his room. Coughing from his burning throat and parched mouth, he sees that he wakes in a room typical to those rented out by inns and taverns. The mere thought of a tavern tugs at the reflex to retch again, but he senses that much of the sickness now swirls at the bottom of the tin pot beside his bed. A few cups of water and a bland breakfast might see him right as rain very soon. And speaking of, the sorcerer’s nose detects scents of breakfast wafting from the kitchen of the tavern.
At first, the crossbowman hears someone pounding on his door, but it is not until he blinks away his sleep that he realizes that the pounding is decidedly more intrusive: a pulsing headache. His innards give protest to the slightest movement in his bed, and the mercenary has to lunge for a nearby container before risking upheaval on his bedding, or worse, his boot that laid nearby. The other was still laced to his foot. By the dimly lit buildings outside his room window, Henry knew his room to be on the second floor of the tavern from the night before, The Fearless Cod. Maybe it was something in the fish, or the beer, from the night before that made the mercenary feel so awful. But as he sits up fully and feels the world pitch and plummet, he senses the need for a quiet morning without too much excitement. Hopefully by noon, food would start to sound like a good idea again.
Vylyra is already awake by the time the dawn begins to rise. With winter drawing nearer, the nights are longer and she awoke as soon as her body felt rested. Even if she wanted to go back to sleep, her persistent concern for her brother kept her from it. In the this city, the first solid lead she had in years to finding Vylars, if she could track down the elusive drow cabal. Though she is more accustomed to quarries afield, the half-elf senses that Thaleniel would prove to be a worthy hunting ground. Through the thin wooden walls, her keen ears tell her that some of her traveling companions fared poorly after a night of heavy drinking, but the revelation does not trouble her overmuch. For her part, she was thirsty when she awoke but that was quickly remedied by her waterskin quite some time ago. It was time to prepare for the day ahead.
Ajaxx rolls over in bed and scarcely wakes when he partially squishes a warm body beside him: the musician from the night before. She sleepily nudges him off and returns to sleep. Though he, without question, drank the most of the four of his companions, his body and soul feel well rested and rejuvenated. His room seems to have contained an explosion of armor, weapons, and clothing, not all of which is his own. It might take awhile to be reorganize, and figure out what belongs to whom. With the smells of breakfast cooking already causing his stomach to make a rumbling demand, the pit fighter thinks it might be as good a time as any to get started with the day.
The four eventually find each other downstairs in the tavern, which is mostly empty save for one or two occupied tables. For those feeling unwell, the dining hall is thankfully quiet. Each of them recall foggy memories of Henry’s idea to use Quick’s status as High Priest of Apsu to gain audience with the wizard, under the premise of trying to heal the bedridden king. To do so they must first speak with the guards at the gates of the Thaleniel fortress, and any local they ask tells them to follow the main roads uphill and the city center cannot be missed. The streetshops and vendors begin to open their businesses as the morning light grows, yet the chill of a late autumn night still hangs in the air.
"Henry, I meant steal an invitation. I can't just go around revealing who and what I am. He'll find me before my time. I must have care."
Quick shudders, looking uncomfortable. "Aren't we supposed to do something about the drow tonight? Maybe we should get through that, then worry about the wizard's party."
"Very well. We'll talk about this later." Henry says as notes the disturbing implication in Quick's words. Quick thought that the commander of the Orc army could pull information from the King's court. Either he had spies on the inside, or mages who could scry from afar.
But the Drow was the more immediate concern. Maybe.
"If we go after the Drow, we need to be at the Dead Man's Drink by noon. Does anyone have a blue coat?"
Vylyra rises before the rest, feeling rather proud of her superior elf blood's staying power, and heads downstairs to speak with the inn keep. This place is exactly the sort he would hang around, if he were here.
After gathering what knowledge she can, Vylyra joins her group to hear Henry mention a blue coat. "Why do we need a blue coat?
The innkeeper's wife is serving breakfast to those who can pay when the half-elf approaches. She seems troubled by some gossip she heard from her friend's inn, The Ugly Squash, a few streets south. A large family of hobbits rented all the rooms for eight nights in the Ugly Squash, but their rooms have remained empty after the first night of their stay. No one has seen the Bracegirdle family in four days, and the innkeeper there now fearfully warns all her patrons not to linger in the streets after nightfall. After divulging this rumor, the innkeeper's wife urges Vylyra to be safely indoors after dark as well.
Ajaxx stretches and then is forced to stop halfway through. Awkwardly he adjusts the straps on his paldren and then is able to continue. He then flags down a waiter and asks for 2 meals; one for himself and the other to be taken up to his room. “For when she wakes.” he winks at the waiter.
Addressing the conversation Ajaxx speaks up. “Give me a few days free time and I could probably crochet you a blue coat.” Ajaxx chuckles to himself and after a long pull of his morning stout he gets a look as though he had a painful memory. “You’ve got to be careful of those Drow. They don’t fight fair. Liable to throw sand in your eyes or feign injury to get you off your guard. Trixy types.” Taking another drink he remembers something else. Turning to Quick, “And no matter how much you think they want to sleep with you, they don’t. They just want you to fall asleep so they can rob you. Think of it as an involuntary hooker.” Skrunching his nose Ajaxx continues, “No that sounded wrong. They have a choice. It’s you that’s involuntary. Well I mean you had a choice, you just didn’t know you didn’t have a choice, well i mean…” Ajaxx trails off with a shrug and another drink from his morning beer.
Henry Southgard suppresses a grimace as his gut quakes. "It's how we signal to the Drow that we want to meet. We've got to rent a room at the inn and hang a blue coat out the window."
The four finish up their breakfasts and get an early start to the day, stepping out onto the city street. A brisk nip in the air has most of the people in the streets holding their cloaks close or breathing warmth into their hands. Already, a few shops are open and conducting business, although the streets are not as crowded as last night. After his third try, Henry finds a gnome who gives him directions to the Dead Man’s Drink. “Take the Alman’s Road down south, follow the curve, and hang a right onto Lefters. Take the second right after that. If you find a statue of a knight, you gone too far. Follow until it opens up to the southern gate. Through there, you’ll see the docks and smell the fish. Take a left down Fishnet Street, go a-ways and it’ll be straight ahead. Oh, and uh,” the gnomish potter leans in closer to Henry, “Watch your pockets after the south gate…”
The defenders of Redstone find themselves on Lefters in no time. A merchant with a street cart selling all manner of garments greets them, offering fashionable hats, dresses, breeches, doublets…including a simple blue wool jerkin (for the high price of one gold coin) to any and all that would hear him. The four pass one street on the right and watch for another. But before they can make another turn, a city block ahead they see a marble horse and armored rider in the intersection. The base on which it stands is above the heads of passersby, and the lance tip of the marble visage is no shorter than thirty feet tall. A cold morning wind tugs at the thin blue banner affixed to the top of the lance-bearing knight. Around them, the citizens, refugees, the wealthy, and poor continue about their business. More than a dozen spare an unkind look to Quick. But the streets overall seem well mannered, perhaps helped in part by the plethora of city guards on patrol.
However, as the group begins to look around, for the proper street or a helpful local, someone disrupts the urban hubbub with a shriek. A woman in a dark robe, bent with age, hobbles toward the four, with long grey hair swinging wildly from her wrinkled head. Her urgency presses her into a precarious gait, and with a wail she falls into Vylyra’s arms.
“It’s happening again! It’s happening again!” she gasps, desperately clinging to the fire-haired huntress. “The black bear is waking up!”
A nearby vendor of spices and herbs points out the second street the travelers are searching for: it looks more like a narrow alleyway than a street, and is so littered with crates and drying garments hung between buildings that the passage is easy to miss. The alley clutter seems like it will limit visibility enough to put travelers at a disadvantage if ruffians or pickpockets lurk in alley shadows. The spice trader hints that she might know another way to the southern gate, but redirects the conversation to her stock of spices, herbs, teas, and honeys.
Surveying the street between their last turn and the statue, the observant do not find a second road, exactly: it looks more like a narrow alleyway than a street, and is so littered with crates and drying garments hung between buildings that the passage is easy to miss. The alley clutter seems like it will limit visibility enough to put travelers at a disadvantage if ruffians or pickpockets lurk in alley shadows. But nevertheless, the gnome’s directions were specific about a second turn, before the knight statue, and this alley is the only passage that fits the description...
"Stay focused. No small talk. Just find the statue."
Quicks eyes swivel around, ignoring passersby, until the woman throws herself at Vylyra. "Here now!" Quick grabs the woman and pulls her off Vylyra. "If you have business with us, stand and speak it, else move along."
The old woman grabs onto Quick to steady herself, gasping in surprise. Throwing a wrinkled finger at his face, she shrieks again, with an accusatory tone. "It's him! It's him! The one that does the waking!"
Citizens pass by, curious enough to stare as they go, but not curious enough to intervene. Quick feels many eyes on him. At length, a pair of guards near the square with the statue take notice at the outburst and, seeing as no one has been hurt, start a slow pace in the direction of the four.
Quick freezes, clearly unsure what to do and fearing the worst. The air around the mage grows tangibly thicker: like his fear. Panicked eyes find Henry's, pleading.
"Alman's road around the curve, right onto Lefters, straight, right, through the gate, then right again." Henry Southgard thinks as he stuffs a coinpurse down his shirt.
He is so focussed on navigating and watching for Drow and pickpockets and the sort who will give Quick trouble that he does none of them all that well.
He misses the second right, and doesn't notice the woman until she is right there.
"Ma'am, you will comport yourself and start making sense or you will leave and quit embarrassing us."
Henry's command is met with a cackle from the elderly woman. She rounds on the crossbowman with her wrinkled, crooked finger. "There is no escape! Woe to you that does not see it!"
She flings her hand towards the young half-orc. "Does he know? No, no! He doesn't! Wake the black bear and escape the cave you might, but none will avoid its jaws!"
The bent old woman lunges out again to grab at Quick's tunic.
"The teeth! The teeth!" she shrieks.
The city guards are closer, but still at a shouting distance away. Many of the people nearby have stopped what they are doing to watch the spectacle, but no one has yet intervened.
Vylyra is shocked by the elderly woman suddenly falling upon her and then being wrenched away in the next moment. She takes a second to check her own pockets and weapons to be sure nothing has been stolen in the exchange.
Looking up she says, "Ma'am, please calm yourself and speak plainly. Can we help in some way?"
Ajaxx takes note of his surroundings but is distracted by the newcomer. Instinct kicking in Ajaxx moves to block line of sight between the guards and the old woman. It isn't until he reaches for his instrument to try to drown out the woman's caterwauling, that Ajaxx remembers that they aren't braking the law and this isn't the slums. Awkwardly Ajaxx will try to keep moving as if he had meant to the whole time. And he will walk up to the closest stall selling things (What are they selling?)
The old woman teeters into Vylyra's personal space once more, gently taking one of the huntress' hands and cradling it. "Put the black bear back to sleep! Before it swallows the sun and gobbles up every creature in the cold!" Now, she squeezes Vylyra's hand tightly, her watery blue eyes softened by age. "Keep your wits, young lady! Don't let the fires go out!"
Ajaxx finds an herbalist's stand of various teas, honeys, spices, and herbs on display. She also has a small stock of poultices for common ailments. The herbalist quietly jokes with Ajaxx about old Miss Miller before eagerly plunging into a long and practiced sales pitch, for which the mercenary cannot seem to get a word in.
At this point, the city guards are near enough for one of them to raise a conversational tone. "Is everything alright here? Miss Miller, are these people bothering you?"
"Or the other way around?" the guard says under his breath with a smile.
As they approach, the guards each make a glance up and down the young half-orc nearby. Their posture is relaxed and calm as they nod a greeting to Henry, Vylyra, and Quick.
"Hello there. I require tea. Something smoky. Probably enough for 2 dozen cups. Oh and a suppose a tea pot and cups." Ajaxx let's out a rolling laugh. "If you have I'll probably need it to be metal. Adventuring you know.[/b]" Ajaxx rolls his shoulders shifting his shield on his back and gives the shop keep a wink. "Speaking of which I'd take an Antiplauge and a cure potion. Re-stocking. You never know what you will find out there." As the woman collects the things he asked for Ajaxx will try to nonchalantly listen into the conversation with the rest of the part and the guards.
"No escape. Not the first time I've heard that one, and yet here I am," Henry Southgard says. He waves to the city guards. "Is she a seer, or just a crazy woman?"
"Smoky? Sure," the herbalist pokes through dozens of labeled jars. "Dwarvish sage sounds like the one for you. Most dwarves prefer it with whiskey, but even without the spirit, the tea will definitely wake you up. Keep you alert for danger," she gives a knowing nod to her adventuring customer.
She places a half pound pouch into two tin cups, and packs those cups into a small kettle. "Three in gold for these."
She produces the sickness tonic and a healing potion, and adds in a lower voice, "and one hundred for these two. Are you sure you do not want a dose of antitoxin, to round out your bodily defense? You never know when a venomous creature may strike..."
"Both!" the old crone laughs at Henry's question.
One of the guards nods, gesturing vaguely north. "She has a booth on the other side of the city."
The other guard continues to size up the human and the half-bloods. After a long pause, he adds with a serious tone. "Did you say or do anything to provoke her?"
"We were walking down the street," Henry Southgard says. "We're just running errands in the city. She's mistaken us for someone else with a grand cosmic destiny and won't leave us alone."
"We're on a tight schedule, and an old woman like her might need help finding her way back home. Do you mind?"
The guard more familiar with the old crone nods again. "Come on, Miss Miller. Let these folks go about their business..." He moves to guide the crazed woman down the road the way Henry and company came from.
The other guard shifts his weight to follow, though not before scanning Henry, Quick, and Vylyra up and down with one last suspicious look. Finally, he takes a step to join his partner.
"You folks have a fine day." His parting words are rather unconvincing.
Now, the defenders of Redstone find themselves as they were before they were interrupted by old fortune tellers and curious guards -the second turn before the knight statue is not yet apparent. Seeing Ajaxx has not not yet returned from the stall nearby, the three take a moment to discuss the conundrum.
Vylyra points out an alleyway being the only passage that matches the directions from the gnome potter. Choked with barrels and crates from businesses nearby, and shrouded by drying garments hanging on lines, the safety of the alleyway seems dubious at best. The half-elf is not disturbed by this, and mentions that the big blade she carries should be enough to deter any thugs in the alleys.
Henry recalls the charming vagrants of Redstone, Michael and John, and assures the huntress that it probably won't come to violence. Even desperate folks can be reasoned with. Henry also got the sense that the gnome was giving the most direct route he knew in order to save them time.
"I agree with Henry," said Quick, surprising no one.
After Ajaxx returns from the herbalist’s stall, the four make their way towards the narrow passage. Weaving and sidestepping their way through stacks of crates, and parting between damp hanging garments, the concerns of the four are alleviated when no interlopers present themselves. While the alley is not wholly deserted, the few people that huddle in the nooks between storage spare nothing more than a glance to the adventurers as they pass.
At the end of the alley, one stack of crates goes high overhead, leaving just a left turn as the only option. As soon as they turn, just ahead another alley opens on the right. Going straight after the left turn leads to a flimsy wooden wall with a closed door, so the four opt to take the right turn and follow the open passage. The cobbles are less well-kept here, with a thick layer of grime and dirt between the smooth rocks. Deeper they go, seemingly further and further into the urban terrain of the city, with the height of the buildings dimming the light from the overcast sky, and more frequent piles of unattended garbage left to rot. The air is stagnant and sour with the decaying refuse. It is all Henry can do to press on, and quickly, to keep his own gut from adding to the waste. At one point, they pass a modestly dressed half-elf uttering a prayer over one of poor folk, pouring golden light over a filthy wound on their arm.
After a few more turns, in a general southerly direction, the alley they just turned onto has slightly better lighting. Up ahead, an opening between buildings lets in more light. From where they stand, they can see more alleys branching off from this clearing; this is not the end of their trek through narrow, damp passages. The four do not get far when they hear telltale smacks of skin on skin, grunts of effort, and shuffling of loose dirt. Then, a rough voice echoes down from the courtyard between the buildings.
“Move your feet bones.”
“Tusker, breathe. You won’t be so outta breath if you stop holding it when you swing.”
The group cannot yet see the source of the noise, but they are certain it is coming from the clearing up ahead. The alley opens up about fifty feet away.
"You welps won't last ten seconds in the pits if you keep playing patty-cake..." the rough voice adds.
"Follow it until you reach the Southern Gate," Henry Southgard remembers. He isn't sure how much further it is, or how close it is to noon. Hard to judge the position of the sun in this alley, even if he did know which way was north.
"Someone ahead, sounds like prizefighters training agaonst each other. Might not appreciate us dropping in. Does anyone know what direction to go?"
"Don't sound like much of a prize fighters to me. Just hearing that I can tell you his odds would be 3 to 1 and that is if the bookie was feeling generous. As far as where to go, I'm following you guys."
Vylyra pushes quietly towards the front of her group holding out one hand palm towards her companions in a "hold" motion and the other getting her falchion ready. She then moves to peak around the next corner ( , ), then quietly slinks back to her group to advise them of the situation at hand.
Vylyra sneaks up and takes a peek around the corner. She sees two men, one scrawny human and one tall and muscular half-orc with grey skin, boxing over a clearing that is mostly dirt mixed with some hay. Both of them are dressed as common laborers, though neither wear shirts at the moment. The lean boxer seems quick, but has very little strength to his punches. The grey half-orc’s long black braids swing with every punch, which might seem frightfully powerful if he was not comically puffing his cheeks with effort.
Under an awning, leaning on the back door of an establishment, stands a dwarf with a white butcher’s apron stained with browns and reds. Another dwarf stands near the awning, next to a wire birdcage that hangs from an awning beam. The cage appears to be too small for young brown hawk kept inside it. The butcher seems to be studying the movements of the two boxers, with his arms idly cradling a heavy crossbow. The other dwarf appears to be focused on the caged bird.
“Bones, don’t let him use those long arms! Close in, use elbows!” barks the butcher.
The thin boxer does his best to follow the instructions, but gets two meaty fists to his back for his trouble. “Ooph!”
Walled in by four different buildings, some of which are two or three stories high, the clearing is an open square of about thirty feet by thirty feet. The corners of the opening are alleys leading to different parts of the city. Some of the walls are lined with crates. The Vylyra notices faded arrows painted on the walls, pointing down each alley. On the wall above where she enters the square, is says, “Lefters” with an arrow pointing back the way they came. Following a wall south, the other corner says, “South Gate”, with an arrow pointing to the corner alley. The other two exits are labeled “Spinsaw” and “West End”.
The brown feathered raptor squawks impatiently, eyeing the chicken drumstick in its caretaker’s hand. Its flapping wings bang against the cage in excitement.
A hawk that size would need at least a whole chicken to keep it fed for an entire day. The bird is young and not yet fully grown, or it could be malnourished. Hopefully, that drumstick is not the hawk’s only meal for the day.
“Here’s your meal for the day,” mutters the dwarf to the caged hawk, as he unlatches a tiny opening and drops in the chicken leg. No one seems to notice the half-elf peering around the corner, and no one seems to notice her slip away.
Whispering to her comrades, Vylyra says, "I see the way to the southern gate, but we will have to move past these...gentlemen. I feel quite badly for that hawk. It appears malnourished, and I could find good use of it with our group. Any ideas? I am thinking I simply offer to buy it as we walk by."