"Or I could incapacitate them..." Quick offers: bravado, rather than magic, dripping from his tongue and fingers.
"Money first, then magic if they want trouble," Henry Southgard says to Quick. "If they do..."
The mercenary thinks about how many alleys join with the clearing, and the logistics of blocking them off. It wouldn't be easy. "If they do put up a fight, don't let any of them get away. I don't want them running off for help like the last bunch."
Quick, eyes wide as Henry accepts his bravado as part of the plan, nods once and attempts a serious, ready-for-action face.
"So be it- follow my lead. Vylyra strides around the corner and addresses the individual standing near the hawk. "Hello there, gentlemen. How much for your bird?"
Henry Southgard is right behind Vylyra, and he tries to look unassuming as he stands beside her. Even so, he sizes up the Dwarf, Half-Elf, and Human. Are they prize fighters? Bareknuckle boxers? Bodyguards in training?
Quick is desperately trying not to appear sulky as Henry falls in behind Vylyra ahead of him.
Deciding to be useful, the young mage sweeps the men and their belongings for the arcane.
The thin man jumps as Vylyra steps into the clearing, announcing herself a little loudly. The muscular half-orc turns with a grimace to see who it is, and his boxing partner takes the opportunity to punch him in the side. Other than a slow blink, the bigger boxer does not budge. The butcher barks at the two to stop. The other dwarf looks up from the birdcage, as the brown hawk picks morsels from the bone.
All four of them wear faces showing some form of irritation, but the butcher seems to be the most irate. After a moment of awkward silence, the dwarf with the hawk clears his throat and drawls, "I wasn't looking to sell, seeing as I haven't even got to take her out on a hunt yet. Twenty-five in gold, that's what I paid..."
The half-elf estimates that the hawk should not cost more than 18gp, and that is assuming the hawk is healthy and capable.
Henry Southgard has heard of some fighter training start with a trainee learning how to fight with the bare minimum available, that is, bare skin and nothing in hand. The fighter-in-training eventually graduates into weapons and armor as they expand their prowess. This school of thought is common when anticipating combat situations that demand versatility and self-reliance, rather than depending on a sharp blade and a stout shield, such as gladiatorial or bodyguarding scenarios. Based on what Henry overheard, these two might be training as pit fighters. However, pit-fighting is not exactly legal in the Thaleniel city.
By way of his profession, the butcher ought to be very comfortable with small blades, and the familiar way he holds the crossbow tells Henry he has used it before. The lean man looks the most likely to run if a fight broke out. Likewise, the dwarf tending to the hawk is a little older and does not appear to very capable in the face of violence. The half-orc, however, untrained as he might be, seems to have natural strength and toughness, with the surly demeanor to make him a considerable threat if the situation turns ugly.
Furthermore, the dwarf that purchased the hawk certainly did not spend 25gp for it. The poor attempt at masking a smile tells Henry that the dwarf thinks his stated price is ridiculously high.
"Oi!" growls the dwarf, as Quick's words and movements start his simple spell. The butcher shifts the heavy crossbow in his hands. It is not pointed at the adventurers, but it is not not pointed at them either. "I don't appreciate folks using magic on me! Least not without my permission!"
Both of the boxers tense up, eyes fixed on the young half-orc mage.
Ajaxx takes this moment to make his pretense know, coming around the corner and folding his arms across his chest. "No reason the get worked up there big shoots. The boy wasn't using any magics against you. Plus I don't want to have to put my shield back on my back. It's awkward." Standing there arms still folded, he then gives the group a rye smile as his thumb taps the release for the strap holding his shield on his back.
Quick drops the spell and adopts a pitying look. "I'm sorry the gods did not bless you with as many senses as I command. Do you require others to have your permission before breathing? Smelling? No? I did not think so. I did catch a glint of magic about you all. Please tell me what it is, and I will refrain from using my abilities further."
The four exchange uncertain glances among each other. The two dwarves shake their heads at one another, and the laborers follow suit and shake their heads at Quick. The butcher shrugs at the half-orc mage indifferently. "Sorry kid. You must be mistaken. We don't have any magic here, it costs too much."
The four seem to be telling the truth. If Quick truly sensed magic, perhaps these four are unaware of it. The butcher seems eager for the travelers to continue on their way.
The four seem to be telling the truth. If Quick truly sensed magic, perhaps these four are unaware of it. Or, perhaps only three: the butcher seems to have chosen his words carefully to avoid a bold-faced lie. His words carry the tone of one that is technically telling the truth...
During the exchange of glances, the observant notice the butcher silently flit his eyes at the iron door on a nearby brick wall . Speaking of looks, the half-orc laborer is starting to size up Quick once the butcher said something about magic costing too much.
Quick shrugs. "I could be mistaken, but we both know I am not. We both know I can easily find out: either you tell me or I look." Quick raises a questioning eyebrow at the butcher for a moment before swinging the full strength of his gaze of the laborer. "We all know that making trouble for one such as myself can go very, very badly."
Quick lets the silence blossom for just longer than is comfortable, then chuckles amiably: the canny observer sees that the mirth does not touch his eyes which remain annoyed and belligerent. "Thankfully, we all want to keep things friendly, eh cousin?"
Vylyra glares saying, "25? Please do not assume my ignorance. That bird is in a terrible state and I'd give you no more than 15 gold at most. I'll have to rehabilitate it extensively before I can even train."
Perception
"Had an uncle who was into falconry when I was a boy. None of them looked that scrawny. And he never paid that much for them."
Henry Southgard smiles and sizes up the Half-Orc fighter.
"He liked prize-fights too, which was a shame because it was so hard to find a good fight. All the legal fights were too tame, and half the underground fights were fixed."
The older dwarf wears a look of mild shock at Vylyra's counteroffer. But before he can get a word in, the butcher snaps at Quick. "You talk a lot about what 'we know' for such a young greenskin. You don't know anything! I'll tell you what I know: you're not worth the bolt in this flatbow, and I don't owe you half a copper."
After a measuring look to Henry, he turns his ire to the laborers. "Bones! Tusker! Back inside, we have work to do."
Surprisingly, the half-orc seems all too eager to obey, and takes long strides into the back door of the butcher shop.
The butcher is trying to save face in front of his workers, but he was clearly unsettled by Quick's posturing and Henry's insight.
The lean man lingers a moment as the butcher mumbles something in dwarvish to his kin. The younger dwarf shoots a sideways glare at Quick before entering the shop and slamming the door behind him. The older dwarf frowns at the brown hawk, which now squawks hungrily.
"Settle your business. Get rid of that damn bird if it gets them out of here."
The thin man wears a questioning look, in a relaxed posture. He holds his gaze at Henry. "Half?"
But before Henry can answer, the back door flies open again, with a furious dwarf booming, "BONES!"
The lean laborer jumps and sprints to follow his employer's order. Now, it is just the older dwarf, and the four defenders of Redstone. The hawk turns a piercing black eye to the strangers. The dwarf's expression seems just as shrewd. "I'll be taking a loss, but you lot need to be on your way. I'll let her go to ya for twenty in gold..."
He unhooks the small cage from where it hangs on the wooden beam. The hawk's wings bang against the wire as it struggles to keep its balance in all the jostling. The dwarf smiles at the half-elf and adds almost as an afterthought, "Twenty gold is mighty generous, if your friend found that this is a magical hawk!"
The dwarf honestly has no idea if the hawk is magical or not. Nevertheless, he is still trying to wheedle out a couple extra in gold to profit from the exchange.
"Aye," Henry Southgard says as the thin man disappears. "Sometimes the fighter who was meant to take a dive bet on himself."
"That's a pretty big 'if'," Henry says. "If there is anything magical about that damn bird, it's how it manages to live off the scraps you feed it."
Uncrossing his arms Ajaxx walks forward pulling a bit of dried meat out of one of his rations. Without acknowledging the dwarf holding the bird, Ajaxx bends down offering the bird the meat. After feeding it he tries to pet it gaining it's trust.
"Who's a good bird?"
Vylyra scoffs, "18 gold, final offer. You clearly do not even enjoy caring for this bird. I bet it's mostly a nuisance."
Quick's mind spins as he wrestles with what to do. In the end, he simply folds his arms and scoffs. "I hate this city."
The older dwarf squints at the crossbowman with some distrust, but Henry has seen that look before when others are surprised that a common soldier understands more than the common tongue.
The hawk shreds the dried meat and bobs its head and neck to get it down. Round black eyes watch Ajaxx's hand intently, and the pit fighter is not sure if the hawk is going to befriend him or take off a finger. The dwarf, who is holding the cage, pulls the cage out Ajaxx's reach with a reproachful look to the big man.
"Watch it, she'll bite," he rumbles.
"I most certainly enjoy caring for her!" says the dwarf with an exaggerated tone of injury. "I feed her everyday! Nuisance, maybe, but only for the penny-pinchers she attracts!"
His insult hangs in the air for a moment as Quick folds his arms and scoffs, and then his frown softens.
"Well, the cost of chickens has been adding up too..." he adds frankly. "Nineteen gold is my final counteroffer. Do we have a deal?"
Quick speaks a phrase in the scaly tongue and his eyes go icy blue once more.
He turns to the hawker, "Why don't you tell me what your friends are hiding and I'll pay the full 20."
Vylyra snaps her head towards Quick as he makes his offer and remarks, "Yes, why don't you?"
The half-orc once again detects a magic aura within his scan. As the dwarf begins to stammer, Quick is able to focus and find the source of the magic to be the iron barred door in a nearby wall. Recalling his knowledge of the arcane, he recognizes it as Abjuration magic. Specifically, the iron door appears to be warded to sound an Alarm if someone should touch or open the door without speaking the password.
"Oh! Um," stammers the dwarf, glancing around the back alley square, "The laborers don't know anything," he adds, still looking around.
"And Glorik keeps me out of the loop at my request," he holds up a palm, as though pledging in honesty. "You see, I can't lie to the authorities if I know nothing! I simply do my job and handle the accounting for the butchery." He places his finger at the side of his nose with a cheeky grin. He leans in conspiratorially with a lower voice, "But I suspect this much: I think the butcher is a sort of gatekeeper to any who have interest in the fighting pits."
He rights himself with a satisfied smile on his face, and takes a few steps forward to be within arms reach of the half-orc. "Now that we are settled, I'll be taking that twenty in gold..."
One palm he holds out to accept the coin, as the other lifts the cage towards the group.
Quick places a hand on his purse but doesn't draw out any coin yet. "A deal is a deal, but there is a bonus in it for you if you tell me the password to that there door." He raises a long finger to point at the metal door.
The dwarf raises an eyebrow at the iron door. He begins to shake his head, but pauses when his eyes go to Quick's purse. The older dwarf holds a quizzical look to the young half-orc.
"I need to see the gold first," he says flatly, using his outstretched hand to gesture at Quick's purse. "Could be fulla coppers you got in there. After the twenty for the hawk, I want you to show me what you'll pay for me to sell out secrets. Let your money do your talkin', son."
The brown raptor's black eyes twitch from one person to the next, and bangs her wings against the tiny cage.
The older dwarf seems to be very interested in gold, that much is clear. However, he seems to have chosen his words carefully, omitting whether or not he actually knows the password Quick asks for. It is likely that he told the truth about knowing nothing about the illegal pit fighting, and is taking Quick to be a fool. A fool with gold, no less...
Quick snaps his fingers, causing a heavy, jangling purse to appear out of thin air a few inches above his palm. He catches it as it falls out of the sky.
"The integrity of my coin should be the least of your worries."
"Whoa," The dwarf's eyes widen with a look of surprise and he accidentally drops the birdcage and it bangs on the ground. The hawk screeches as it struggles to stand inside the small cage. Thankfully, due to her master's stunted height, the fall was no further than a foot, though it certainly ruffled her feathers.
Now, the dwarf's upheld hand makes a placating gesture, rather than an expectant one. The tone of the unsettled trader loses much of its confidence. "Whoa now, I don't want any trouble, kid. I don't know what password you're talking about; like I said, I try to stay out of Glorik's dealings outside of the butchery. Let's just settle this on the twenty we agreed and go our separate ways, eh?"
After picking up the cage, he rambles on with more nervous words. "You must be new to the city. It's good manners to show the gold or silver you plan to pay with, mostly because trust is in short supply in these parts. Nothing against you or those with you, that's how trade is done here. Believe me, once you find a few painted lead coins in your purse, you'll be checking every coin you earn too! Heheh..."
Chuckling nervously, the older dwarf cringes at the young mage that towers over him. Clearly, Quick's tone and display of magic made an intimidating impression on the accountant.
Quick makes the purse vanish from his hand then draws 20 gold coins from the purse at his belt and counts them into the Dwarf's hand. "The bird is for the lady and you'll be throwing in the leash and falconer's gauntlet as a gift." he says flatly.
"I'll take that, thank you Quick." Vylyra says as she gives a slight nod to Quick and moves to grab towards the bird.
"It's okay little one..."
The dwarf looks up from his gold with forced smile at Quick's last change of the deal. His shoulders sag.
"Of course," he says in a defeated tone.
He leaves the cage and brown hawk at the feet of the half-orc and walks back to the awning. Bending down, he lifts up a burlap sack and tosses it to the group across the clearing. When the bag hits the ground, a thin leather leash and a functional leather gauntlet spill out.
"A pleasure doing business with you, Quick! Bye bye now!" waves the dwarf from the awning. The salutation has some urgency behind it.
The little brown hawk puffs up when Vylyra first approaches, but seems to calm down when she address the bird. Taking up the cage, the hawk seems at ease, and does not flinch away when the ranger attaches the leash to one of her legs. Donning the falconer's gauntlet, the half-elf pauses before opening the cage.
At the first, the hawk flaps hurriedly, eager to be free. Brown feathered wings stretch out fully, as the bird skips along the ground near the huntress. After a moment, it launches itself into the air to land on Vylyra's outstretched arm. A black eye turns to the half-elf's and the raptor makes a demanding squawk.
Henry points to the painted sign that indicates the way they should go and gestures that they should be on the move. The four and one brown hawk make their way down the alley.
Henry leads the group onward through the dimly lit alleys. Their steps mindful to avoid animal waste or strewn garbage, the four find that their hands come away grimy from any walls they touch. Rats skitter from shadow to shadow, squealing in protest if a foot finds their worm-like tails. In truth, it feels that the stink of the city seeps into the clothes of the four. The destitute huddle in corners out of the way, and more than once it seems that mere presence of the group's heavy armor and weaponry are what keep them from being robbed.
The crossbowman leads the way, suddenly stopping in a filthy walkway and staring at the ground intently. The others stop behind him, and he does not answer why he stopped. Crouching and taking a few steps forward, the mercenary stoops down toward a rat padding along the corner of the dirty brick wall. A bit of trash seems to be stuck around the neck and in the jaws of the tiny vermin, and Henry draws near to the rat and frees it. The little creature scurries away, as Vylyra's hawk beats her wings once, and twice, straining at the leash in eagerness to snatch up the greasy little snack. However, the rat finds a hiding place too quickly.
Henry Southgard absentmindedly folds a strip of paper into his pocket, while the other hand holds up a straw doll he found the among the refuse. He turns over the worthless, rotten plaything in deep consideration. At length, he shakes his head, letting the trash fall to the ground with the rest. Jaw set, the seasoned fighter turns to the young half-orc.
"Quick, come here," he gestures, indicating he wants to speak in private from the other two. He steps away a fair distance, and continues in a low voice.
"Our plan needs to change. You, Ajaxx, and Vylyra will need to continue on with contacting the drow. I can’t go with you right now. There is something else I need to take care of.”
“Let’s keep moving,” he says to those behind him, and keeps his distance ahead of them in order for Quick and the crossbowman to maintain their privacy. The four continue to follow the alleys, though the faint scent of freshwater mingles in with the other city smells as they travel on. Henry speaks again to Quick in a lowered tone.
“I will go with you until the south gate. There, our ways will need to diverge.”
The color drains from Quick's face. "You're leaving?"
But Henry did not answer. Quick follows, stricken until Henry speaks to him again. "What's happened? What's on that paper? Surely we can all go? You can't just leave me." The young Half-Orc blanches and clears his throat. "Us. You can't just leave us."
Keeping his pace, Henry Southgard levels a serious look to the young mage.
"It's better if I do."
After a moment longer, the crossbowman squints. He takes the next turn in the alley alongside the half-orc, after a quick glance behind to make sure the other two were not too far behind.
Henry faces the path ahead, but Quick can see that the mercenary has a lot on his mind. "I promised to keep you safe, kid, and help you in whatever way I could with your prophecy. The best way I can do that right now is to take care of something before it becomes a problem..."
He sighs. "...and you chasing after me will guarantee the problem altogether. If I remember part of the writing on your prophetic scroll, something about 'not being discovered until coming into his power.' If you follow me, I am certain the opposite would happen: you would be exposed before you are ready. I need you to understand the importance of what I am saying."
Quick flaps his mouth a few times, but no sound is forthcoming. Finally, he shakes himself and nods. "How will you find us again?"
“I’ll think of something.”
Henry looks up at the narrow beam of sky between the tops of the buildings above them. In the overcast, he estimates the time to be around midday. What is more, he notices his sensitivity to the daylight has gone, and his mind no longer mired by the sickness he felt this morning. The whereabouts of the three traveling companions depends on many factors, and those factors trouble the crossbowman in silence for a time.
The smell of fish mingles with the stink of city alleyways for the next few turns as the four travel onward. At last, an alley opens onto a wide street with businesses on either side, with a stone wall looming over the buildings opposite to where the four stand. The road is teeming with activity. The comings and goings are thickest near a large open gate flanked on either side with more stone wall. Through the mouth of the gate, they can see that the docks and dockside establishments are downhill from where they stand, and beyond the docks a wide expanse of misty grey water stretching south as far as the eye can see. Brown and white blips on the King’s Lake keep fishermen afloat as they ply their trade, and one or two larger ships can be seen sailing into the harbor of Thaleniel from elsewhere in the kingdom.
Many large, ox-driven wagons carry crates of goods through the gate and into the streets of the city. A great throng of people bustling this way and that in the shared purpose of travel and trade, from haughty nobles to swarthy deckhands, all manner of folk carrying on with their business. A handful of soldiers lean against the stone corners of the gate, sparing each passerby at least a cursory glance. Their looks last a little longer on those moving into the city than those exiting toward the docks. The observant notice street urchins lingering at shadowed corners, searching the moving crowds for an easy mark. Merchants gesture welcomingly to any whose eyes linger on their wares.
“Well this is it,” Henry turns to Quick, Ajaxx, and Vylyra with a smile. “I’ll need to break off from you three to handle some personal business. The downside is that I don’t know how long it will take. Do you remember Sybil’s instructions on making contact?” When the name leaves his mouth, the mercenary winces momentarily. “Let’s go over it one more time…”
contacting the drow
“Since at least one of you will be returning to The Fearless Cod for our wagon and stabled horses, I’ll leave a message with the innkeeper there to keep in touch.” Henry Southgard raises an eyebrow at Quick to make sure the adolescent is paying attention.
“Until then,” he takes a sincere tone, offering a hand to shake, first to Vylyra, then Ajaxx, and lastly Quick. “It’s been an honor fighting and traveling alongside you lot.”
The two Henry met in Redstone Keep offer terse goodbyes, and Quick shakes his hand limply. The crossbowman pauses a moment longer, regarding the young mage’s downcast expression, which seems suspiciously close to a pout. The sorcerer feels a solid hand grip his shoulder for a moment.
“Stay safe, alright?” Henry waits until Quick looks him in the eye until he steps away. With a final nod to the three, he readjusts the pack on his shoulders and turns to the crowd around the south gate. The silence between the three stretches on for a few moments. Quick is seen staring at the back of Henry’s head until it is lost in the throng of city folk.
“Wait a minute...” says Vylyra, wearing a far-off look of deep thought, “We need to go to Dead Man’s Drink before going to this south end of the city. Why are we here? We need to start at the northwest corner of this city...”
“Because!” says Quick, “We need to become familiar with the docks first!”
“No,” Vylyra replies evenly, “We have time to do that later. The blue coat needs to hang outside the window by noon, and that is just a half hour away!”
“But if the street performer gives us a clue we don’t understand, we’re gonna be lost!” the half-orc snaps hotly.
The half-elf pauses, regarding Quick with a patient look, and begins her words slowly. “I am here to find my brother, who was taken by the drow. I am going to do this the right way. I am not going to waste my time. So how about you cool it and follow my lead, alright?”
“Ugh, fine!” Quick says, quickly turning to walk down the street.
Vylyra and Ajaxx stop a local for directions to the Dead Man’s Drink, and quickly the three are on their way. After finding that none of them happen to carry a blue coat, Vylyra stops at the first garment merchant she sees and takes a look inside. Quick follows after, and soon the two are bickering about which blue coat they should buy. Meanwhile Ajaxx, shuffling with his heavy armor and many weapons between the racks of clothing, finds the shopkeeper, and starts a conversation with the vendor about the knitting craft. The friendly talk ends with pit-fighter purchasing two balls of yarn -a soft red and a durable grey- just as the two turn a few questions to the seller of cloth and garments. At Quick’s insistence, they ask if a particular blue coat could be embroidered with gold thread. When the businessman gives his price, the half-orc scoffs, and Vylyra asks to just buy the coat plus a half spool of gold thread. Quick offers to pay, but again shows frustration at the price to the coat and thread. In the end, the trade involved some coin and a bottle of wine from Quick’s pack.
“Why do we need the coat to have gold in it?” Ajaxx asks, as the three continue down the street in a northerly direction. Vylyra gives a resigned shake of her head.
“We want the coat to stand out at night,’ Quick’s tone is a little defensive. “So we can spot our contact easier!”
Ajaxx shrugs at the idea. The three travel through the city, making idle talk and watching for the landmarks in the directions for the Dead Man’s Drink tavern, making their way around the inner wall that surrounds the wealthy part of the city. At a certain point, the half-elf has a moment of clarity and navigates a shortcut that saves them a few minutes of walking. In no time, they see the outer western wall of the city and their destination, Dead Man’s Drink. Inside, about a dozen patrons are seated with their afternoon drinks. Behind a bar, an elven woman and a dwarvish man work quickly to fill orders. Ajaxx, who is eager to try the fabled drinks of this establishment, makes quick steps to the bar.
“Let me handle this,” says Quick, before he saunters up to the bar. He raises his hand to the dwarf, who is the first to notice him. “Barkeep, I’ll take two applejacks!” and silver pieces clink onto the counter.
The dwarf cracks a toothy grin and shakes his head. “A newcomer! Welcome! We’ve got no applejack here, but have a look-see at our menu…” He hands the young mage a damp, crinkled sheet of parchment. “Holler when yer ready. Oh, and drinks here are about two in gold...” the dwarf adds, nudging the silver back toward Quick’s hand. Behind the drink menu, the half-orc scowls at the price.
Ajaxx hails one of the bartenders, and confesses that he has always wanted to try a classic dwarven ale. The dwarf enthusiastically tells the mercenary of a drink of his own design named, “Dragon Ass.” Ajaxx orders a flagon and so does Quick. In conversation, two learn that the dwarf, “Two-Keg” owns and runs the brewery with his wife, Mladris, the tall beautiful elf handing Vylyra a brew that is golden in color. They learn that the drinks are so costly because they also pay for a room upstairs, though Quick meets some resistance in acquiring a room key until his pint is completely finished. Doing so, the young sorcerer goes pale and feels sick from the brew, but is able to keep it down with a chaser of water. Hurrying up to the room, he realizes that Vylyra still has the coat downstairs. The huntress herself feels a little slowed by the drink, “Ent Draught”, and finds that she needs to hang on tightly to the bannister on her way up the stairs. However, Ajaxx is right at home, already striking up friendly conversation with the bartenders and the other patons.
Vylyra makes a quick stitch of the gold thread around the bird design on the back of the blue coat, and hangs it over the windowsill. The two go over the plan once more, their next destination being The Lucky Cup, a brewpub at the docks. When they descend the stairs to leave, they find Ajaxx in the middle of a discussion over the merits of tripping an opponent with a dwarven axe over an orcish spear. At last, the three of them depart and make their way to the south end of Thaleniel.
In no time at all, they are able to locate the brewpub in question. A wooden board hangs above the door: the image of a silver cup and two tumbling square dice. The dice appear to land on their high faces. Carved above the threshold of the door, it says: The Lucky Cup. Standing on a barrel, a halfling dances to a jig while her tin whistle plays a variation of “Three Blind Mice.” The nearby docks are busy with the coming and going of sailors, merchants, and dockworkers.
“Since we don’t need to meet with anyone until the third hour this afternoon, now is a good time to get familiar with the area,” Vylyra observes. The three agree not to wander too far as they learn more about dockside buildings.
Quick learns of a fisherman, Fisker, who is thought to have the freshest fish in the city. Vylyra notices the dry dock and shipyard, not far from many city blocks of storehouses used in the bulk commerce that comes in to the piers. Ajaxx focuses more on the people that frequent this side of town, finding a more even mix of all races here than in the wealthier parts of the city, namely, half-orcs and dwarves. He also get the sense that people is in this part of the city are more likely to mind their own business rather than call for the city guards at any provocation. His survey of the lake and the overcast that blankets the sky tell him more: it will definitely rain the next day.
The three reconvene, and after a long roundabout discussion concerning how to handle the coded conversation, it concludes with Quick and Ajaxx paying to stay in a room on the second floor of The Lucky Cup. Quick anxiously watches the street corner on which the halfling danced as Vylyra approaches, while Ajaxx contented himself with continuing his crochet project.
The red-haired half-elf makes polite conversation with the halfling, who introduced herself as Goldberry, before offering to buy her a cod and beer. The elf working as the barkeep shouts their orders to the clamorous and smoky kitchen. Many of the trappings and iconography of the inside of this tavern strongly suggest that it might also serve as a temple of Cayden Cailean, a god of freedom, luck, and ale. Though Vylyra’s conversational skills falter a bit in comparison to her tablemate Goldberry, who appears to be rather fond of the half-elf. Many of her hints, flirtations, and innuendo fly over the ranger’s head, and Vylyra presses on, sure to use the code words “fishing nets” to contact the slaver drow. At the end of the meal, Goldberry invites the half-elf to watch her next performance, a short song of her own writing. Stepping outside and climbing atop her barrel, the halfling belts out:
“Brothers! Sisters! My days here are done,
The Highlander’s taken my life.
But what does it matter, for all gals must die,
And I’ve tasted the Highlander’s wife,
I have! I’ve tasted the Highlander’s wife!”
It is at this moment that Vylyra comes to understand many of the halfling’s hints and innuendo over the late lunch, and she blushes deeply. Goldberry presses her to meet again that night, and the huntress mumbles a vague agreement as she reenters the tavern to see her two companions. Quick asks her with blunt awkwardness about her attractions, and Vylyra, having recovered from downstairs, replies with bluntness in kind, “Honestly, that’s none of your business.”
After Vylyra recites the song, and the three put their heads together to think of what the clue could be. Thankfully, it does not take them very long, when both Vylyra and Quick relate the song to an establishment near the docks named The Urlghain Bride, yet another tavern.
The few hours they have before nightfall is spent stopping at a smithy to have their weapons sharpened, and making a few minor purchases of the shops in that side of the city. Finally, unmasked from the overcast, the sun throws long shadows from the buildings before dimming completely, and the main streets of the city have lanterns lit on the corners. Instructing her new hawk to remain outside, near the building of The Urlghain Bride, Vylyra releases the raptor, and steps inside. Fortunately, due to some foresight from Quick and an inkling of his magic, she is equipped with a spell that allows her to whisper messages to the half-orc at a distance. The young sorcerer cast the same spell on Ajaxx, and just before entering the dockside tavern, casts a spell to seek out the magic auras in the bar.
Inside The Urlghain pride, they will find a small bar lounge, with about four women and two men talking, laughing, and relaxing on the cushioned furniture. “Good evenin’ teh ye fine folks!” greets a thick Urlghain brogue from a tall, beautiful woman with a muscular build. Her curly red hair is pinned up behind her head, with a few bouncy locks hanging by her ears. She flashes a winsome smile. “What can Ah get fer ye?”
Of the other three women there is an elf with flowing white hair, a half-orc in long black braids sporting many tattoos, and another human girl with mouse-brown hair and plain features. Of the men there is a lithe elf in fine, expensive clothing, and a muscular human in laborer’s clothes boasting an enormous brown mustache and a twinkling eye. All of them stare at the newcomers with smiles. The elf woman wears a familiar blue coat over her thin frame.
“Can Ah get ye a drink? Are ye en need of a room? We have plenteh of beds, oopstairs and down. Ah hoop ye don’t mind our company, we are all friends here…”
“No thank you,” says Vylyra hurriedly, who gets the suspects that part of the establishment’s menu includes soft company. “I’m just stopping in for a quick drink.”
Wine in hand, she sits at a table beside the white-haired elf woman. After a few attempts at small talk that are met with haughty and terse sarcasm, the ranger makes a bold, albeit awkward, statement about fishing nets. To any onlooker, the prim elven woman rolls her eyes due to her horrible luck with a talkative table mate, but Vylyra senses that she is getting somewhere and presses on. The mustachioed man, called Reggie by the others, begins strumming a lyre and singing softly. Meanwhile, Ajaxx and Quick sit at another table with soup, bread, and ale, masking their attention on Vylyra by starting a friendly conversation with the brown-haired farmgirl. Ajaxx, of course, knew as soon as he stepped into the building, why most folk visit this place, and it isn’t for the soup or ale, he is certain of that.
Despite fumbling through conversation, the elf impatiently turns to the rambling Vylyra and asks bluntly, “Do we need to get a room?”
“It looks like I’m staying for a bit after all!” the half-ef announces a little loudly.
“Then please, taek a lood off. All those weapons and armor look like sooch a burden! We have a lockbox for just the occasion, if ye would. This is a house of relaxation and mirth, I will not have any patrons walkin’ aboot ready to go to war!” the highlander woman’s tone is one that brooks no argument. Even so, it takes some persuasion from the mistress before Vylyra unbuckles her breastplate and leaves her many weapon in the large chest. The Urlghain woman holds up the key and promises that she will not let anyone steal Vylyra’s things. The pale-haired elven woman waits with austere elegance, near the stairs. “Follow me downstairs, if you would…”
“Down to the dungeon!” jeers the mustachioed man to the tune of his music, as Vylyra follows the elf down the creaky wooden steps. The ripple a laughter spreads over the merrymakers at the joke, and they continue on with their banter and gossip.
In a downstairs hallway, the elf leads them to a door halfway down the hall. “So, what brings you to this side of town?” she asks impassively. Vylyra answers in a conspicuous tone, “Oh, just the fishing nets I suppose!”
To this, the elf sighs and nods in resignation. “Very well…” and leads Vylyra further to the door at the end of the hallway.
Once inside, she closes the door. The room is nicely furnished with a soft couch and an even softer looking bed. A dark wooden vanity supports a large oval mirror, and a jeweled fine comb is on the flat surface above the many drawers. Wood panel walls are decorated with rich purple, blue, and black tapestries. Slowly, the blue coat slides off her shoulders and she hangs it up on a wooden hook near the door. On the wall also hang a collection of leather straps, chains, whips, and other equipment designed for restraints and mild torture. Then, she gracefully reclines on the couch in her flowing dress, eyeing those with her in the room. She has not yet smiled once. “Let us speak plainly. What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to look into some slave trade, and possibly sell one,” Vylyra blurts quickly.
“Very good, then sit with me…” the elf smiles, but on her proud face it looks more like a sneer. She sits up to offer more space on the couch. Once Vylyra is seated, she reaches down underneath her seat and pulls something with the slightest effort. The couch, and the wall behind it, rotate!
Meanwhile, upstairs, Ajaxx has arranged some time for Quick and the farmgirl, Jane, to get to know each other. Quick, all the while, blushes like a beet, but goes along with the ruse. The red-haired woman stops the pit-fighter and asks that he deposit his arms and armaments into the chest, and Ajaxx cooperates by dumping his weapons inside, but asks to keep his shield and armor. A lengthy discussion ensues until at last Jane loses patience, and Ajaxx agrees to leave his shield, but remain in his armor. The three also head downstairs to conduct some business in the room halfway down the hall. Upon entering the room, Quick begins to nervously ramble.
Vylyra finds herself in total darkness, hearing faint footsteps on soft earth, which suddenly stop, and not too far away, a menacing voice from beyond rasps, “I will say this once: Cross us and your friends and family will never see you again, nor will you walk in daylight thereafter, if you can walk at all. I understand that you are interested in slave trade.”
“That is true,” answers Vylyra, “I may have one to sell, but I am also searching for a slave, and I think you might know where they are.”
After a pause, the menacing voice answers, “Then rise, and approach. Ueleth, give her light and we will talk.” A soft white light glows from beside Vylyra to illuminate the couch. The elf beside her rises, and indicates that the half-elf follow her. In the dim, the huntress can see a square shape in front of her, beyond which opened a dark doorway. She realises she is in a half-circle room, and a shoulder-height gap in the wall spans across the entire curve. The dark shapes of three figures stand between her and the doorway.
Ueleth guides her forward, and the light reveals a stack of crates forming a makeshift table. Advancing further, other side stand three dark elves, each with hair tied back in intricate knots and weaves, each a varying shade of silver. One stands tensely, lean and lightly armored, with a hand resting on the hilt of a longsword buckled to his belt, watching them with intense white eyes. Another beside him, a hunched old crone, her deep purple face lined with age, seemingly stuck in a permanent scowl. Her dark hand clutches the handle of a cane just behind the crates. The one furthest back of the three is also the shortest and stockiest, with flint-grey skin and the points of his elfish ears clipped, he leans against the threshold of the door with his arms crossed. His red eyes, cast down towards the ground, flit up at the huntress for just a moment.
“What is it that you seek? What business do you bring?” wheezes the ancient drow.
“A half-elf, named Vylars, one who looks very much like me,” Vylyra states, “For he is my brother-”
The drow guard standing beside the crone jerks his blade halfway from its scabbard, before the old drow stops him with a glance. His look is very tense, watching Vylyra’s every move. He sheathes the sword.
“Are you here for revenge?” asks the old drow coldly.
“No. I am just here for information. I will even buy him back if I must. What do you know?”
“A lot of bodies come and go. Do you know when he was taken? His skill set?”
“Two years ago-” Vylyra pauses when the elder drow scoffs, “-and he was a skilled hunter, like many from the northern wood.”
“Two years is too long, he could be anywhere,” sneers the drow, “and would cost a pretty penny if they show any kind of potential… to the tune of twelve hundred in gold. Are you that rich? And what were you were saying about selling us a body?”
Vylyra gives a keen look. “That depends on the information you give me.”
The old hunched drow mulls this over for a moment. “Very well. We will reunite you with your brother… but you will have to come with us…”
Old white eyes look to Ueleth, and Vylyra feels a blunt strike to the back of her head!
At that moment, Quick hears Vylyra whisper, ”Ow!” and panics. A shower of dazzling colors bursts from his hand, narrowing missing the pit fighter while Jane is covered in the clashing spectrum. A lucky blink on her part saved her from the blinding effects, her face now wearing an expression of confusion!
Vylyra blinks away the pain, finding that she was still standing after the sneak attack! The white-haired elf stands behind her, with a soft leather sap in one hand! None of other drow have yet had a chance to budge.
"Shit." Quick squeeks, his voice pitching higher than it had since his adolescence. "Listen, Joy. JANE! Listen, Jane. I'm really sorry. I didn't want to involve you in this. I'm trying to save the woman I love." Quick nearly swallows his tongue as he remembers Ajaxx in the room. Cheeks burning and not taking his eyes from Jane, Quick continues. "I'm trying to save Vylyra. My colleague. We're friends. I know that." He whirls on Ajaxx and shouts, "Don't you think I know that!? Of course, I do!" Calming too far, too fast, Quick returns his attention to Jane. "I'm sorry. The stress of this situation has gotten away from me. What I need is for you to just stay here and take a break while we go save our friend. Remember, I tried to be professional."
Quick turns to the door and checks to ensure Ajaxx is following before rushing off to save Vylyra.