Stretching, an appreciative smile playing across his face at the warmth from the morning light, the young dwarf quickly changes into his clothing and armor and proceeds to take a final inventory of the belongings he would need for his journey. Satisfied with what he had, the young dwarf exited his room and reached the stairs only to hear the rumbling in his stomach demand his attention. Ah, breakfast it is! Feeling for the proper amount of coin, an extra weight abruptly stops him on the stairs "Hamn, my apologies, with all the flowing drink last night, I seem to have forgotten to pay for your services!" Finishing the short walk down the stairs to the bar, the young ranger places five silver coins on the bar "Mo leithscéal a ghabháil, cara, ní tharlóidh sé arís."
"Also, if I could get two slices of bread, two eggs, two slices of bacon, and a warm mug of coffee." he said adding a silver coin to the his room fare "Keep the remainder as my thanks". Turning and finding a table in the corner that was empty of patrons, the young dwarf sits and awaits his meal in silence.
"Naug't at all, wouldna' given ya the key if'n I didn't t'ink you were good fer it." The Dwarf behind the bar smiles and signals a serving woman, one you didn't see last night, to bring out the food.
Hearty and wholesome it sates the Rangers appetite.
Tyro rises out of bed, yawning and blinking in the daylight. At least this building still stands. He rolls out of bed, checking his armor to ensure that it's dry, and undamaged by the rain, then buckles it on. He freezes just as he finishes buckling the last buckle, remembering that he'd quite uncharacteristically forgotten to pay in advance for the night. Bloody wind and rain, driving the simple things out of my head. Ach.
He gathers his belongings, and makes his way down the stairs, quickly finding Hamn. "My apologies, I always try to pay in advance for a room. It's simpler that way." He sighs deeply, and glances out the window. "In my haste to warm up, I entirely forgot. Again, my apologies." He places his coins on the bar, then takes a look around to see who occupied the bar this morning. He spots a younger dwarf, noting his face, and turns to Hamn. "What do you know about that one?"
"Oy! Not ta aull!" Hamn exclaims as Tyro tries to pay. "Fer t'e Dwarf wot fixes t'e pipes, A'll be payin' yoo!" He slams five gold coins on the table with a big smile. "A'n ifn' you be seeing t'e knig't tell 'em t'eres gold 'ere for 'im as weel." Business concluded he looks over to where Tyro indicated.
"A' sure naow, t'at young uns a Ranger. 'Ere tell 'es goon oote fer 'is first walk soon. Nice boy." The bartender leans back and begins to idly polish a cup as he eyes the Quaesitor.
Tyro bows his head in thanks, and takes four of the coins from the bar. "You are too generous, sir. I would feel remiss if I accepted more than four gold. I will seek out and pass along the message to Sir Togril, I'm sure he will be very appreciative." He scratches his beard and ponders for a bit. "I think I'll go pay him a visit. Thank you again for your generosity, may Abadar bring order to your home."
He makes his way over to the younger dwarf's table, and taps on the back of a chair. "Mind if I take a seat?"
Remembering the armored dwarf as the one who had seemed to be friendly toward the charitable dwarf and the three children during the prior evening, Sorn smiles "By all means, I am certainly not opposed to company." Taking a drink of the still steaming coffee as the dwarf seats himself, Sorn looks at him "How does this morning find you, good sir? I hope all is well."
He nods with a smile. "It finds me well. I'm glad the storm has cleared, I was concerned the squall might carry on for several days." He lets his eyes wander around the bar for a moment, then turns back to the other dwarf. "And you, sir?"
"Aye, I was hoping against the possibility of continued rain. I am doing well. My name is Sorn Armadorn, by the way." Allowing his gaze to drop to his mug of coffee, a minor realization hits him I have completely forgotten to buy a waterskin. I will have to pick one up before I leave. "So what brings you to Ilan?" he says, looking back to the dwarf.
As the two Dwarves carry on their conversation Fizkin the Gnome finishes his breakfast. Turning to the front of the building the performer is able to catch a glimpse of a group of road-weary merchants pass by one of the inns open windows.
__________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile at the forge:
Togril of the heavy hammer proceeds apace as each small bit of metal is shaped into the desired piece. After a couple of hours the Dwarf is greeted by the Forge-Master who hired him on a week ago. The grizzled old man with arms the size of fore-masts clumps his way to where Emberforge stands with a small grin on his face. "Well met strong-arm!" He exclaims before selecting one of the pig-iron nails to inspect. "Fine work as always, though I was wondering what would you say to something a bit more, challenging?" The good natured smith smiles more broadly and a small twinkle catches his eye as he again focuses on the Dwarf at the anvil.
Sir Togril lets the hammer fall especially hard to punctuate his interest, and he meets the eye of the forgemaster, but does not break in his work.
“Surely. What did you have in mind?” he calls over the hiss of hot metal dropped into water. He sets the tongs beside the unworked iron and waits for the blacksmith’s reply.
As an explosion suddenly rips through the busy city streets the Smith must yell to be heard! "I NEED YOU TO GO... TO SPACE!" He screeches as laser fire rains down from above perforating the small forge and burning holes through the grizzled old man! He falls to the floor spitting blood as the strange alien skiff veers around for another pass! The paladin Togril has never seen such destructive magic, but he knows that to survive he must be more swift than he ever has before!
The wails and moans of the wounded fill the city streets as more and more of the strange craft descend from above. Their blackened hulls glistening in the morning light. Several of the ships break out of formation and land , cannons firing, in the middle of the market place outside the Any Port. The two Dwarves and one Gnome watch as the inn catches fire from one of the many blasts. A hatch opens on the side of the lead ship and out descends a creature of nightmares. Bright red armor or chitin plating covers the beast from head to toe. Standing up to it's full height the being is nearly nine feet tall, towering over even the largest of men in the city. Drawing a small device from it's side the invader from space points it at the inn and depresses a small button. A bright beam of pure energy shoots forth and blows out the entire front wall of the inn! Flaming bits of rubble and detritus fall on the table to two Dwarves were sitting at, while the entire bar erupts into flame as some of the more potent elixirs take light.
Under an armored hat the being seems to smile malevolently as he lowers the weapon and aims at the group inside.
Tyro quickly unslings and hefts his battleaxe and shield and charges headlong toward the creature, yelling at the top of his lungs, "FOR NARNIA!" As he charges forward, he focuses on the weakest point of the beasts armor, trying to find where to sink his axe.
Grabbing the remainder of his breakfast, consisting of a runny egg and a slice of bacon, the young dwarf throws his meal at the feet of the alien being. "If you will join me as a faithful companion, there will be far more delicious meals in the spoils of battle!"
What in the Nine Hells is that!?
Fizkin wracks his brain as he bolt for cover and a better position.
The creature meets Tyro's call with a roar of it's own! But is distracted by the flying breakfast plate. Eyes widening it discharges it's weapon at the meal in panicked (pancaked?) frenzy!
The food erupts in a shower of flame and half-eaten bacon, and the creature lets out an exultant yell. Though it is short lived as he sees the Dwarven Inquisitor barreling towards him.
Tyro sees that the armor seems to be weakest at the knees, and at perfect chopping-height too!
Sneakily-sneaking through the town-turned battlefield Fizkin is able to find a hiding spot behind a burning flower stall, up and to the left of the enormous assailant. Thinking as hard as he can, the Gnome is unable to figure out just what this thing might be. Save for a long-forgotten story about invaders from beyond the stars. But surely such tales were mere fabrication!
________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile, back at the forge:
The collapsing workspace waits patiently for it's one surviving occupant to try and escape before it falls in a heap of burning rubble.
Tyro bellows out loudly, "Halt, in the name of Abadar!" . He squares up to the creature and stares it in the eyes, beard billowing majestically in the wind. "What is your purpose here, vile fiend?"
The slow and steady mind of Sir Togril Emberforge has little time to consider the sudden chaos around him. What.
The dwarf lunges, and narrowly escapes the collapsing building. His scale armor crunches as he rolls to a stop, and he stands. Damn these monsters, he looks over burning town, the unbidden carnage and violence steeling his resolve. His dwarven hands form fists, and he feels the weight of his warhammer, and misses the weight of his shield. Knowing he has only seconds to spare, he frantically kicks aside the nearby wreckage to find something, anything, to cover his shield arm. He mumbles a prayer for the soul of the kind blacksmith that hired the young wayward knight, and hopes he can protect others from a similar fate.
Togril searches furiously and is able to find a thick oak trunk, with a branch the perfect size for gripping. Hefting it up he tests it's weight, just in time too! The jet-black skiff returns and fires a missile at the stalwart forge-hand!
The explosive detonates around him, but behind his tree-shield the Dwarf is safe. Resolutely glaring at the offending craft Togrils disapproving stare at the paltry attack shakes the pilot to it's core, losing concentration the alien invader accidently pilots the skiff straight into the ground behind Emberforge! The massive explosion shakes the ground, but Togril doesn't look back, just walks away in slow motion.
__________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile back at the market-place:
The beast in red pauses it's onslaught, an angry and slightly befuddled look on it's ugly face. In slow deliberate words it answers the Quaesitor. "DEATTTTTTTTHHHHH, SLAVESSSSSSSSSS, WOMENNNNNNN...." As it tries to bring it's gun arm to bear.
The young knight hurries from the dockside wreckage to the market-place, warily coming up on the landed black ships.
Sir Togril hears the voice of Tyro and he rushes to find an ally in the chaos. He spots the familiar Quaesitor standing bravely against the tall red creature alone. His pace quickens as he rolls the warhammer in his grip, and his leather boots and rotating hammerhead gather momentum in a charge. The dwarf-made armor clanks loudly and Togril’s ringed beard swings from side to side, and he bellows as only a true Emberforge can: “YOU SHALL NOT HARM ANOTHER!”
He whirls his warhammer hard at the towering crab-hide.
Realizing that diplomatic endeavors would not work on a monstrosity such as this, yet grateful that he could provide a distraction for his new found ally, the dwarf draws his bow and an arrow and moves outside of the burning inn. Stopping well behind the armored dwarf and to his left, Sorn notches the arrow and pulls his bow string taught, looking for a viable place to shoot.
Without revealing himself visually, Fizkin launches into a song of battle to inspire his allies.
The blow lands firmly on the creatures thigh, crumpling the red armor and dealing a grievous wound the the beings leg. Roaring in pain the monster turns towards it's new foe.
Sorn studies the towering baddie and sees many places where an arrow could do damage. The most obvious being the exposed head under the armored hat. Blue skin and slimy veins crawl over one another in a sickening display of emotion, angry emotion. Though after seeing the damage done to the armor by the Knights hammer, Sorn thinks that a well placed shot might just punch straight through the strange red-plate.
Fizkins song bolsters the group to un-heard of levels of courageousness. Even going so far as to enhearten the rag-tag group of sailors and guardsmen across the square as they assail one of the landed ships. Their buffed attempts are able to smash the canopy and gut the pilot within.
"Two of those are understandable reasons to fight indeed. But the one brings nothing but madness and harm." He swings his axe for the knees of the creature, putting his weight behind the blow.
A vicious cut carves condemningly close to the creatures constrained cartilage. Unfortunately it misses, though only by inches.
Hmm... both dwarves seem to have attacked the leg... if nothing else, the armor should be weaker... Crippling this beast may be the best way to go about it.
Aiming for the knee of the towering monster, Sorn takes a deep breath and slowly exhales as he looses his arrow.
Upon loosing the arrow, he moves five feet to his left and prepares another arrow.
The arrow sails wide, thunking into the ground behind the beast. The creature, furious at the assault from all angles, tries to bring it's gun to bear but the powerful forces of Abadar deny him that. He is only able to squirm meaninglessly and sputter.
Fizkin abruptly appears from behind the wall and strikes a dashing pose as he pulls a mighty riff from the strings of his violin.
The air around the strings sharpens with the clear, ringing chord. A half smile crosses the gnome's impish face as he looses the sharpened air at the monster, careful not to hit the dwarves.
Pulling the bow string back in spite of his frustration, Sorn focuses on his target and looses another arrow.
The crystalline notes fly through the air and cut deeply into the ferocious monstrosity. It's ghastly dark eyes cloud over as the pure awesomeness of music literally shoots him through the heart. As the behemoth falls to the ground the last thing it's failing sight sees is an arrow whizzing off into the sunset dramatically, as if to say "such life you live, such an ending you met" or something else about war and the fragility of life, what you want? I don't speak alien. Heck he could have thought it said something about hotdogs and two for one specials at the local Loot-and-Linger for all I know. Anyway it was deep and meaningful.
As the rag-tag group of guards and sailors continues patting one another on the back for a job well done, a curious local tentatively steps into the open hatch of the, now pilotless, ship. After a moments hesitation he calls out through the passage. "It seems alright, there's no one in here. Hey look! A shiny red bu-" *MASSIVE EXPLOSION SOUNDS* cut the voice short as every single ship of the invading armada simultaneously detonate in some catastrophic display of destruction. Like a horrific game of dominoes played by vicious little creatures who don't know how the hell you play dominoes.
The rubble of the alien fleet falls to the ground starting new fires where it lands, but at least the sounds of battle have subsided. Strewn through the marketplace are the advanced polymers and sophisticated electronics of the heretofore unknown alien race seemingly hell bent on the destruction of all unlike themselves.
What a world, what a wide world.
Or should we now say... WORLDS?
For a moment it seems as if time and space twearks itself, then scientific progress goes boink.
Everything is as it was before, and everyone is left standing (or sitting) staring off into space like a goofball, all having experienced the worst possible deja vu simultaneously.
Fizkin, sitting at the bar, looks out the window to see the same group of road-weary merchants make their way into the square.
The Dwarves Sorn and Tyro continue their conversation over breakfast. Though to an outside observer for a minute there they appeared to just sit and stare over one anothers shoulders like weirdos.
__________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile, back at the Forge:
Sir Togril misses a swing of his forge hammer and accidently twacks his thumb. Inhaling quickly he curses his idle mind as the Forge Master looks on in surprise.
"Eh, you alright there mate?"
Says he, a look of concern on his friendly face.
Finishing his breakfast, Fizkin head to the market and fills the air with delightful fiddle reels. The grateful passersby toss what coins they can into the Bard's violin case. Clearly most are inspired by the gnome's presence and will consider how they will better their lives as a result.
Emberforge shrugs and continues working, somewhat embarrassed his mistake was noticed.
“Aye, just fine. Quite the storm last night, eh?” he calls over the clamor of hammers.
Tyro shakes his head and murmurs some quiet prayers to Abadar, hoping that the strange feeling he encountered will pass and his mind will be brought back to order. Once he is more comfortable, he turns back to his companion. "My business here is simply to travel and to learn. I'm a scholar of sorts, I study the foundational elements of cities and see how they can be... improved." He smiles and shrugs. "And yourself?"
Looking down at the remainder of his breakfast with an eyebrow cocked, Two cups of coffee may be in order, today... Taking a healthy swig from his coffee, the young dwarf blinks, looks at his coffee and takes another pull for good measure. "Ah, scholarly pursuits are always commendable, especially when done for society's improvement. I am here to prepare for the task given to me to prove myself as a ranger. In that sense, I suppose you could also say I am here to travel. I am Sorn Armadorn, by the way. What's your name, friend?"
"Tyro is my name. I'm always glad to meet another traveller. Might I enquire after your task?" He smiles pleasantly, waiting for a response.
Smiling at the dwarf,"Well met, Tyro. The task that I have been given is to travel and survive in the wilderness for the minimum of a year. This is not to say that I cannot enter city limits during that time, but it is far too easy to become too comfortable among the luxuries of city life. How long will your studies have you in Ilan?" Taking another drink of his half filled cup of coffee.
"Only so long as the benefit my learning." He smiles and shrugs, taking another looks around. "To stay in one place too long is indeed tempting, but it often leads to idleness and sloth, and sloth is often quite dangerous. Speaking of which, I have a task which I must undertake. If you have nothing else to occupy your morning, you would be quite welcome to join me."
Finishing the last remainder of his coffee, the young dwarf smiles. "Absolutely! I do have a minor errand to make, as well, but depending on the nature of your task, it should not be a hindrance to anything you have to accomplish. Whenever you are ready, I need only to collect my belongings and depart."
"Meet in ten minutes, out front then?" He smiles and nods, moving upstairs to double check that he has all of his belongings, then descends the stairs again. As he passes the barkeep, he calls out a farewell, then exits into the street, taking a look around and breathing deep the air.
"Indeed!" The young dwarf climbs the stairs, enters his room, grabs his belongings and proceeds to exit the building while nodding his farewell to Hamn. Upon seeing Tyro, the dwarf smiles "Alright, where to?" Even if it's for a short while, it is good to have some company.
"Off to the School of Scholars, then. I must speak with a man about a thing." He begins to move through the streets, toward where he knows the School resides. As he moves through the crowds, he watches the people move, noting where their movements are orderly, and where there is disorder in the streets.
Quaesitor Tyro sets a brisk pace in the direction of the School of Scholars. His roving gaze takes in much and more as he exits the market square. The brightly-colored tassels and banners of the shopkeepers and vendors booths clash drastically with the dingy, salt-soaked wood of permanent store fronts. The square is filled with many people of many races, most of whom seem content to mind themselves as they mill about. Every so often though the Inquisitor notices a burly Man here, a surly Dwarf there, even one Half-Orc sticking out like a boil on a birthday cake. Weapons on hip and curious looks on their faces, they nonetheless seem to not be causing any trouble.
Not far from the doors of the Inn plays the Gnome from the night before. His fiddle reels delight those passing by, who occasionally dropping coins in the empty boot at his feet. For the most part the city seems to breath with life and contentment, sellers hawk their wares, travelers mingle with sailors and locals and all move about their business. Children play in the streets, some of which the Dwarf recognizes from Togrils table the evening before. Occasionally the yelled insult is heard, but it seems to be in all good fun.
__________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile at the Forge:
The Master Smith's face again breaks into a smile. "Aye, twas. You know, me Da used to say Dwarves don't feel pain because they're too stubborn to let it get the best of them." The big-armed man chuckles as he continues. "In any case I've recently heard tell that the owner of the Lusty Lady is in town. He apparently wants to oversee her refitting, now there'll of course be the normal needs for the ship, iron nails and brass rings." He nods at the pile Togril has worked on since morning. "But the word I heard," Looking around and over his shoulder he lowers his voice till only the Knight can hear him. "is that he wants all new metal-work for the hinges and door handles as well. As you know these are complex pieces, needing the work of clever smiths. Complex takes time, and since he hasn't put out the order yet, that gives us the advantage. Now I've got good men working for me, but you, you're both competent AND fast. Fastest I've seen in since I saw meself in a looking glass!" He smiles at the joke. "Point is, if you're willing, I want to have one hunnerd hinges, and twenty locking door handles ready by tonight."
He raises his hands to forestall any protests of disbelief. "I know, I know, a significant task for only one. But think of the profits to be made! If you can have the product ready before he even starts pricing orders, and I can seal the deal with my silver tongue, we stand to make a small fortune!" The good-natured Smiths grin grows wider at the prospect. Opening his massive arms in an imploring gesture he asks Togril his mind. "What do you say? Up for the challenge?"
________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile BACK at the market.
Fizkin plays and dances, much to the appreciation of the vendors and shoppers alike. Most of who nod their head, or tap their toes to the tune. As he plays though, the diminutive bard notices one ill-kempt man returning to listen time and again. Awkwardly clapping with the completion of each song. Nodding his head at Noblejinx as if to be agreeing with some unspoken word.
Most would distrust the odd behaviour, and the Gnome finds himself agreeing with Most. It certainly is odd that the dirty man doesn't seem to have anything else to do but listen, clap, and nod. Trying to put it out of his mind, the bard continues to play, seeing Sorn and another Dwarf from the inn head off together down the main thoroughfare.
As Noblejinx begins another song, his eyes on the other end of the square, the ill-kempt man capitalizes on the moment! Making off with the Gnomes hard-earned capital! Tune cut off mid note Fizkin curses the momentary lapse. He was right all along! The behaviour WAS shifty!
Fizkin starts out after the man, but quickly realizes that a foot chase is not his forte. He flicks his hand and speak a word of arcane power.
"Ah, yes, things. I will need to stop by one of the merchant tables on the way." Following Tyro, Sorn observes the crowd and the streets for anything of interest and the merchants that would sell the water skin that he needs.
With a small fortune, I can craft some proper plate mail, perhaps feed a few more empty bellies. The dwarf knight nods with a final strike of his hammer.
“Aye. Just keep the materials supplied, and I’ll do my best.” I always do.
Trailing along behind the Quaesitor, Sorn sees many brightly decorated stalls and the fine folks tending them. As he walks he discovers that there's quite a few waterskins to be had among the vendors. From your typical brown leather affair costing a gold piece, all the way up to a gaudy little number covered in bright beads and shiny bits of glass. The greasy man offering the skin for a "mere" five gold pieces swears up and down that you put water in, but you get magic water out.
__________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile at the forge:
"Excellent! I'm off to seal the deal! Feel free to use some of the supplies in back if needed, but I'll have one of the runner-boys fetch for you so there's no delay." Togril begins the herculean task with gusto and continues laboring for quite some time.
________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile back at the Market:
Fizkin watches as the ill-kempt man makes a leap for a side alley. Sailing through the air the boot-snatcher inhales sharply and promptly passes out in a very convincing impersonation of Captain Narcoleptic: worlds sleepiest hero.
A few turn to look as the sleeping man crashes into the alley, but most figure that it's somebody else's problem and continue with their business.
As Fizkin retrieves his boot from the slumbering moneygrabber he hears heavy footsteps behind him, cutting off the alley-ways entrance.
"And wots going on here eh?" Says a burly man, as an even burlier man steps up beside him. They glower down on Noblejinx as if HE were the one in the wrong. Or something like that, it's hard for the Gnome to tell, their faces being so far above his own in the poorly lit alley.