Tyro waits patiently for Sorn to decide on a waterskin, then begins to move back in the direction of the school.
I need a fancy waterskin like I need a battle owl... maybe I should get a battle owl... Sorn places the single gold piece on the table, grabs a standard, not-so-shiny waterskin, thanks the merchant for his services and follows Tyro, silently contemplating the pros and cons of a "battle owl".
"What's going on, my fine sirs, is that this man here..." Fizkin gestures to the sleeping man. "...was just describing to me a condition he's been afflicted with. The symptoms include taking things you don't want, running when you do not wish to, and acute racism against gnomes. I explained to this man that the only cure was a good nap, and, in fact, we we heading to the nearest inn when his symptoms flared. He took my boot and ran. I did the only humane thing I could: I put him to sleep."
"Now, it is plainly obvious that I cannot lift this man's weight, but it is imperative that he be taken to a bed post haste. Would you good Samaritan's be up for it?"
As if from nowhere, Fizkin produces two shiny gold pieces and flips one to each man.
"The inn is just there. Thank you, kind gentlemen."
The coins bounce of the chests of the men and fall into the alley. "Really?" the first says, his eyes suggesting he's less than convinced.
"I doubt that's what Irve told you." He tilts his thick neck to look at the ill-kempt man crumpled on the ground.
The second burlier man speaks up for the first time.
"Care to change your story?"
The two cross their arms in unison and glower down at Fizkin, several feet below them.
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Meanwhile back in the streets:
The hum of traffic and bustle of passersby fills Tyros ears as he watches Sorn make his purchase. Waterskin in hand the two continue on their way to the School of Scholars. Arriving at the familiar iron gate Tyro notices that, unlike the previous evening, many of the first floor windows are open to allow the summer breeze in. THere's also some movement around the grounds, berobed students mill about, most of them faces stuck deep into books.
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Meanwhile back at the forge:
Togril toils relentlessly, each hammer-blow ringing out into the harbor. Sweat beads up and rolls from his brow as the forge fires burn ever hotter. Despite fumbling a few of the early hinges the dwarven smiths progress is steady and he's able to make a good headway into the order before much time has passed.
As he continues to work he notices a child watching his labor from just outside the forge. The little one seems to be watching intently to every strike the hammer makes.
Sir Togril spares a cheerful nod to the boy, but otherwise continues working. The three urchins must have friends. Surely, he knows not to disturb a tradesman? I already lost enough time this morning...
Tyro makes his way into the school, and wastes no time in heading toward the office of the man with the knowledge to inform a plan. He pauses briefly to confirm directions with a student, then continues on his way.
Keeping in pace with the dwarf, Sorn takes in the school's campus with a cheerful and curious eye.
"If I may ask, what brings us to the School of Scholars?"
With the students guidance Tyro and Sorn are able to find the correct office without much trouble. Tapping lightly on the frame the two Dwarves enter through the open office door. A thin man in dusty robes looks up from a book. As he straightens you see that he had been standing over the tome nearly bent double to read the text, the spectacles perched on his nose seemingly offering no assistance with the task.
Regarding the two with a look of curiosity the scholar stretches, his back popping three different times as he sighs at the relief. Finally he speaks, "Arnan Fletch, Master Scholar of Elementals, lore, language, and physiology. May I help you?" He seems to almost hope you have a question, you get the impression that the loves answering questions.
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Meanwhile back at the Forge:
Togril notices that the boy is making a show of watching the hammer fall and sparks fly, every so often though, he glances at the Dwarves armor and shield. Over the past twenty minutes he's been inching his way closer to the forge. The child now stands about fifteen feet away on the same side of the street as Togril and his beating hammer.
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Meanwhile back at the Marketplace:
The two burly men continue to glower down on little Fizkin.
"Very astute gentlemen! Very astute indeed."
"In fact, I am an officer of the law: a Justicar in case you wanted to know. I have been undercover for sometime. This man, Irve, is an informant of mine. He saw you two coming and panicked. I could not let him go obviously. Now, it seems, I'll be getting to speak with you two as well."
Fizkin casually lifts a hand to point with a flourish of his hand.
"Hear that? My associates are coming to escort you to my offices. I'd suggest you clear out of here if you'd rather not come along. Oh! And I'll need my coins back."
Togril calls out a word between each strike, eager to finish the order on time. “Can… I… help… you… son?”
He punctuates the question by testing the recently finished hinge, looking up for a moment to meet the boy’s eyes. The hinge clangs as he tosses it into a box and reaches for new supplies. He hesitates for a moment to hear a response before beginning his noisy work anew.
"Master Fletch! An honor to meet you. I am Tyro, Quaesitor of Abadar. I had an... interesting predicament last night, and I thought you might be able to help. I came across a being made of water at the docks last night, and though I made every effort, I was unsuccessful in communicating with it. This struck me as something which would be quite within your specialty. Would you be willing to help me try to locate and communicate with it?"
Sorn, quietly listening to the conversation, lets his eyes wander about the room, taking in the oddities and wonders that it held. A being made of water, this could be interesting.I wonder what it could be...
The two men cock their ears at the sound of footsteps, and the burlier second man looks over his shoulder out into the market. His face absolutely covered in worry as his arms drop to his side.
Unfortunately the first man continues to stare at the bard before him, his eyes narrowing even further. "Doubt those men are yours," he says as he takes a step forward. "Doubt you're a Justicar too, see, there 'asn't been a Justicar around Ilan for 'bout thirty years now." He looks Fizkin up and down. "Even then, never heard of a Gnome being allowed to serve in their ranks! He chuckles derisively, taking another step forward. The burlier man still looks unconvinced and nervous, but it's obvious that he's not the one calling the shots. He begins to close the distance to the bard alongside his companion.
"We're the law in Ilan. No two ways about it my tiny friend. And it seems to me that you've been disturbing the peace." The oaf continues walking forward as he speaks, halting a mere five feet away from our hero. Noble Fizkin can smell the unwashed stink of his breath from this distance as well as make out the faded boars-head emblem on his boiled leather cuirass.
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Meanwhile back at the Forge:
The little boy takes a few tentative steps forward at Togrils acknowledgement. Looking up at the sweaty Dwarf he clears his throat before speaking in a timid voice. "P-please sir Dwarf, I herd you liek to h-help some my f-friends. I-I-I was wondering if y-you could spare a copper s-so I could eat today?" The poor boy looks near on scared to death of the heaving behemoth of solid Dwarf-ness standing with hammer upraised, moisture glistening on his brow.
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Meanwhile back at the School of Scholars:
"Water? Intresting. Could be an Elemental!" The professor pauses and considers, whispering to himself. "Maybe a nymph?" Before perking up and looking back to the two Dwarves at his door, "I, of course, would be delighted to help you! Anything to further the study of the wide world around us!" The gleam in his eye is apparent as he slams the dusty book shut, quickly opens it back to the same page placing a scarlet rope to hold his spot, and slams it shut again. "I'll only be a moment while I gather my things." Fletch says as he moves to a bookshelf, tossing odds and ends into a leather bag on his desk. The scholar calls back over his shoulder to Bane-Edge as he moves in a flurry about the office. "Night you say? Curious. Not typically nocturnal." He clearly isn't waiting for a response as he continues to talk without pause. "Haven't seen a water elemental in quite some time lad. I wonder what it's doing here in Ilan?"
As Arnan moves about the room Sorn thinks on what has been said. And decides that maybe Tyro had a little too much to drink last night, I mean water-people? Seriously.
Coming to a halt he drops one last item on his desk before hefting the bag full of glass jars, quills, dried flowers, shiny rocks, breakfast cereals, and the like, onto his shoulder. Both Dwarves are able to make out the title of the tome; 101 Aquan Phrases for the Bumbling Dolt.
Placing a straw hat with a brightly colored feather in it squarely on his head, Professor Fletch grabs his book and proclaims. "Well then, shall we?"
Tyro nods, with a smile. "To the docks, then." He leads the way out of the room, and across the grounds, tracing a mental map of the city to confirm exactly where in the docks he'd seen the being. As he walks, he keeps his eyes and ears open, spending more time gathering information than talking.
"I wish I had the knowledge to be of more use to you, professor. This being is unfortunately somewhat beyond me. It spent most of it's time laughing, and playing between ships, but the force with which is threw water about seemed to me to be a danger to those ships it played next to."
The dwarf knight pauses to wipe the sweat from his face. He sighs and smiles patiently at the beggar boy. He reaches into his coin purse and holds up three copper pieces for urchin to see. “Penny for your thoughts, son. What do you want to be when you grow up?”
His beckoning gesture indicates that he wants a quick response. I ought to speak to a city councilor about these homeless children…
Fizkin scrambles between the two men and makes his way into the market proper. Upon hearing the rhythmic clang of a hammer, Fizkin recalls one of the hairy dwarves saying he like to smith. The Gnome races for the smithy screaming, "Blacksmith! Get out here!"
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Meanwhile down at the docks:
Fletch follows the beside the two Dwarves as the trio makes their way to the waterfront. Occasionally nodding at Tyro's words or offering a comment of his own the scholar continually consults both his book and the sky as they pass through the busy city streets. Upon arriving at the docks he nods with finality and addresses the two.
"Playing you say? Fascinating. Perhaps a juvenile?" His motions quick and vaguely bird-like Professor Arnan looks out over the water at the ships in port. "Regardless, I doubt it meant harm. If it had there would be considerably more damage to the various vessels." Holding one hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun he asks, "Where exactly did you see it?"
As Sorn listens for Tyro's reply he stares up at the cloudless sky, the beautiful day for ranging is slowly and surely passing him by.
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Meanwhile back at the Forge:
The little boy inches his way forward. "P-please sir, but when I grow up, I-I want to be fat." A thin hand rubs at his emaciated belly, even at this distance Togril can hear the childs stomach rumble at the thought of how much bread three coppers could buy.
During his brief time in the city Togril has noticed quite a few urchins and apparent orphans populating the damp and dirty streets. Though there doesn't seem to be an overage of homeless in Ilan, the percentage of unattended children is noticeable. Perhaps it's due to the high frequency of sailors visiting the Port? That in conjunction with all the winsome wenches who ply their trade and plow the traders passing through?
Though to be fair, the Paladin knows little of such matters.
Tyro gestures to the spot of water between docks where the creature had been seen. "She was there, raising quite the ruckus. Laughing rather a lot too." He begins to walk out across the nearest pier to get closer to the spot where he'd last seen the being.
The young blacksmith smiles wistfully at the sound of the small groaning belly. He steps forward and drops the coins into the boy’s hand. “Very well, boy. Take these coppers, and come back once you’re fed if you want to earn a bit of honest coin.” Sir Togril straightens, “Now, I’m already behind on my work. Stay safe, child.”
The dwarf knight scarcely resumes the rhythmic blows of his hammer when a familiar voice calls for a smith in the street. That colorful gnome from the inn. What in the blazes could he want from a blacksmith, so urgently? He hears the clanging of other smithies along the docks, and when he looks up from the anvil, does not see the master smith of the forge he works. I hope he did not get himself into trouble…
Sorn, nodding quietly and listening to everything Tyro and Fletch are saying, can't help but think of the fact that Tyro is a Quaesitor. A scholar of sorts is an interesting way to put that occupation. I suppose what he said about bringing society to order makes more sense, now. Not wanting to seem too aloof, the young dwarf looks at Fletch and asks "Have there been any other instances where a watery being such as this has been near Ilan?"
Professor Fletch considers for a moment. "It's not often that we see the water folk come here of their own volition." Idly scanning the shore he corrects himself. "Actually I don't know of any elementals just paying Ilan a visit. Highly irregular." The spindly man stoops low to the ground apparently studying the the waterline intently.
Tyro sees the water and little else. Though he should be happy to note that the ships from last evening appear whole and undamaged.
Continuing almost to himself Fletch thinks back on years of book-study. "Though they don't often leave their Plane, Water Elementals would prefer someplace quiet and dark to rest. A cove, or a cave maybe? Do either of you know of such a place, probably nearby?"
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Meanwhile back at the market:
The Bardic Gnome is able to hop, skip, and jump past the two hulking... hulks. Though one does send a meaty hand out towards the nimble performer, calling out "Halt! In the name of Fen!" Noblejinx keeps to the busy streets, headed towards the sound of hammer on iron. Though most, if not all, of the cities inhabitants studiously avoid looking at him as he makes his way. The little Gnome can hear the huffing and puffing of the two behemoths in pursuit.
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Meanwhile back at the Forge:
Unfortunately the main Market Square is several blocks down the street, it was pure luck that Torgril was able to hear Fizkins shrill yell. Though he cannot see the diminutive fellow, Emberforge does note a wave of people seemingly moving away from the center of the street. All hugging the storefronts closely, attempting to look as unobtrusive as possible.
Odd…
Sir Togril glances around for the forge master before peeking out of the shop to look down the road, curious of the cause of the strange behavior.
As Sir Togril looks out over his anvil he can tell that something is out of the ordinary, he's just not sure what. People continue about their business but are steadily moving away from the center of the street.
The Dwarf cannot see much, but what he can see is two muscle-bound leather necks striding resolutely down the avenue, straight down the center.
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Meanwhile at the docks:
After some discussion amongst themselves the Ranger and Quaesitor are able to determine that the most likely place, based on Professor Fletches criterion, would be a small shady cove located about a mile North of town.
After hearing a description of the place the scholar agrees that it would be a likely spot.
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Meanwhile in the streets:
Fizkin continues to bob and weave as he makes his hasty way through the city streets. Unfortunately since there are near on a dozen smithy's in the town tending to the ships that call Ilan homeport, he doesn't properly know which one the Dwarf he saw in the Tavern works at. Indeed assuming that the Dwarf was a local smith at all.
The bard leads his pursuers on a merry, if slow, chase as he walks around in circles.
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"Dwarf! Get out here! Child sized people are in trouble! Save me then feed me dinner! That's your thing right!?"
Damn the dross! I’ll surely be working after sundown for this…
Sir Togril steps back inside to retrieve his shield. He double-checks the warhammer hanging from his belt and buckles the shield straps before striding out of the work station and onto the street. Watching the two leathernecks chasing the one who shouted for help, the young blacksmith furrows his bushy brown eyebrows. Hmph, did the musician bet too high a wager? Why is everyone acting so strangely?
The knight of Torag takes a few steps forward, separating himself from those that are trying to avoid the scene. He looks at the bigger of the two muscular men. “What’s going on here?”
He resists the urge to rest a hand on his hammer, well aware of the city’s laws on civilian violence in the street. His shield arm hangs at his side. The dwarf looks over the three, muttering a prayer to the Master Craftsman to help him discern friend from foe.
Fizkin skids to a halt just behind the blacksmith and unfastens his whip for easy access should he need it.
"These two are trying to steal what I earned playing in the market."
The dwarf knight raises thick eyebrows to form an “is this true?” expression at the two thuggish men.
"I propose that we move North to the small shady cove located about a mile from town. I think that we have the best odds of finding this elusive creature there." He ponders for a short while. "I've been in the city for too long, it's time I spent some time outside it."
"Of course it's true! Why would I lie? Just think of them as iron ready for shaping. Teach them a lesson!"
Nodding at Tyro's words, "I agree on both notions." Looking at Fletch "Now, will entering this creature's cave cause it to behave dangerously? It sounds like it was certainly playful, but how territorial can these beings become?"
The dwarf knight raises a hand to the small rover’s insistence. “Easy. Fighting in the city will get the both of us into trouble. Besides, I suspect this to be simple misunderstanding, these two fine men wouldn’t try stealing from a harmless wandering troubadour, am I right?”
He smiles at the towering men in front of him. Sir Togril knew types like this excitable gnome –they throw their words around with little thought. Still, the young blacksmith preferred to err on the side of caution.
The shorter of the two burly men tilts his thick neck downward to glower at the stout Dwarf. His drawling mewl of a voice moves itself to address the knight. "This, man," He hesitates over the word, "Is wanted for disorderly conduct, disruption of the peace, resisting confinement, loitering, disrespectful tone to an agent of Fen, lying to an agent of Fen, mocking an agent of Fen," He takes a breath, "And failure to show a permit for public performance." The ugly brute straightens to his full height and looks down his nose at Togril. "He shall be taken into custody to face the the justice of Fen." The burlier man grins at this and shifts from one foot to the other, he seems to hope someone will object.
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Meanwhile on the edge of town:
The odd little company of three make their way down from the docks along the shoreline North of the port. The time is spent with idle chit-chat about local goings-on and the weather, which Sorn, for one, is thoroughly enjoying. Arriving at the cove the professor speaks up again.
"Now as I was saying, I don't believe that the Elemental will be territorial. I do think that they are fairly free spirited. But as you can of course see, this tome is rather old and I can in no way be held responsible for the veracity of it's words held within." He holds up the dusty old book with the expression of a sheep on his face. His hands fidget nervously as he returns it to it's place on his side. Looking from one to the other the slip of a man again addresses them. "That being said, if it's all the same to you fine young men I will be bringing up the rear of our party. Ever, ah, vigilant, for any threats we may face from out of line of sight." Again the smile of a scholar as his fretful posture threatens to collapse in on itself.
As if by a switch his demeanor changes and the frail fellow straightens with vigor in his spine. "But why are we still talking? There is SCIENCE to do!" He places a hand on each Dwarfs shoulder and gently urges them forward, following at a close pace.
The young knight tries to place the familiar boar’s head sigil as he weighs a reply to the apparent law-keepers in this town. From the mastermind to the pennythief, all wickedness must be held accountable. He wearily runs a smithy-blackened hand over his braided beard, not relishing the thought of disrupting the peace to purge the corruption from these officials. He does not break his quiet eye contact with the man that spoke.
Fizkin wildly runs through his knowledge of Fen and what 'justice' might entail.
Fizkin leans in and whispers to the dwarf.
"These men abuse their true authority. Please don't get hung up on the law in the letter. They will hold me unjustly and hurt me for no reason."
To the men, Fizkin speaks loud enough for all around to hear.
[b]"I am Fizkin Noblejinx and I deny all charges and denounce you as crooked and corrupt. You may have real authority, but your abuse of that authority shows your unworthiness to wield it. You are no servants of the people. You are covetous pervayers of unbridled self-interest. I denounce you, and I urge all good people to report these to the Fen for summary judgment for the charge of defaming his honorable character."[/b
Tyro engages in the idle chat only so much as he must to remain polite. He spends the rest of his time considering how to fight an enemy made of water, and settles on hitting it repeatedly with an axe if it won't comply.
As they continue to move closer to their destination, he keeps his eyes open for any unusual signs which might indicate an elemental, and does his best to listen in on any conversations as they pass, to see if anyone has more information.
This must be why the people were trying to avoid them! Sir Togril nods tersely at the Fizkin’s words, his suspicions on the two men confirmed. Hoping to bolster the courage of the commoners, he adds to the end of the announcement, “I can see the evil written on your hearts. I will not abide your bullying of the weak, and your abuse of the law will not protect you from it. I will report you to Fen himself,” he turns and points to the gnome, “and you’re coming with, so we can properly sort this out.”
He hesitates, remembering the forge, but pushes it from his mind. Justice must be upheld. Crafting must wait.
"Gladly." Fizkin says to the dwarf.
He turns to the two thugs.
"Now what are your names? Not that we can't make the report on your faces alone: such memorable faces. Still, it would be faster with your names."
The odd trio slowly make their way forward down the path, the obvious jittery-nerves of the professor belie the apparent serenity of the scene. The closer they get, the more the two dwarves note the cool inviting waters, the stately trees, tall grass swaying with the breeze. But there is little and less evidence that the water elemental might be here, other than the water itself of course. Stepping onto the beach, it is obvious that the only thing that of note in the area is the small cave entrance near the rock cliff face. The bright midday sun and the seeming depth of the cave combine to preclude any real vision inside. Though from where the group stands in the sand, the hole in the rock face doesn't appear to be much more than a few feet tall.
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Meanwhile, back in the streets:
The bigger of the two thugs blinks stupidly while the, only slightly, smaller one narrows his gaze. Disregarding Fizkins demands, He regards the Dwarf cooly and says. "You would vouch-safe this Gnome?" With a dawn of understanding, the bigger thug grins ever wider as he watches the interaction between the Dwarf and his companion.
Noblejinx notes that, while it doesn't look like the people will take to the streets, more than a few folks are watching the exchange with interest. Several throw pitying glances as the bard, while several more exhibit angry faces at the two lawmen. A couple children pull goofy mockeries behind their monstrous backs.