Allysen's steps gain a certain bounce as they enter Saltmarsh. Ready to be off the road and under a proper roof, the young half-elf's mood lifts a little.
Belros focuses on keeping a watchful eye.
Likely unnecessary in a quiet town, but I know all too well how quickly peace can be shattered.
"So, who wants to take first watch? I don't mind, unless someone else *wants* to. 8 hours apiece?"
"Sounds fair to me. I'll take the next one,"
The caravan makes its way through town along a road that follows the banks of the Salt River. Near the sea there are a few larger, wooden warehouses set next to the shacks of the fishermen. A guard with no livery meets you at the entrance, and after some questioning it turns out that he works for the Merchants' Guild. The warehouse is owned by them as well. He and Amelius talk for a bit and you can see that some money changes hands, after which Amelius approaches you.
"Slight change of plans. Since I was last here, the Merchants' Guild bought the warehouse and they have their own guards now, so you won't be needed. Just help me carry all the saddle bags up to the second floor, after which I'll pay all of you out. I'll take the mules to the stable after that. I'm also buying everyone a few rounds at the Dying Minotaur, so you're all invited to join Grakkus and I there after that. Who will join us?"
"I will." If anyone had passed around alcoholic drinks around the campfire on the trip, MWG did not partake, so you might wonder why she's joining in.
"I guess I will too," Allysen says, not sure why she was agreeing other than there was free drink and the possibility of free food.
Once you carry everything up the long ramp to the 2nd floor storeroom (basically just a large open space subdivided by enclosed "stalls"), the group makes its way to the front of the building where Amelius draws out a large purse heavy with coin.
"Well, here we finally are at the payout. Let me just say that I think you have done an outstanding job. We made it through the Old Road in one piece and so did all the mules. I know I promised each of you a hundred gold, but considering how well me made it through and your dedication, I'm giving each of you a 50 gp bonus. Well, well done."
Amelius pulls small, presorted bags of coins out of the larger bag and hands one to each of you.
MWG tries to subtly heft the bag to determine if there's the correct amount of coins in it.
Once he has handed out your 150 gp payment, Amelius again invites all of you to join him for a drink at the Dying Minotaur.
The inn is only a short journey from the warehouse, but then again, everything in Saltmarsh is only a short journey from every other point. The Dying Minotaur is a two-story stone building with a wooden roof and a small sign hanging over the door with a half-decent painting of a mighty warrior and wizard facing off against the mythical half-man, half-bull creature. The building itself looks to be falling apart in places, with many obvious repairs. Moss and lichen grow over more than half of the building, giving you a clue of how the warm and humid climate found this far south can effect a structure.
All the windows of the Minotaur stand open to let in the evening ear, and the sound of conversation and the clacking of cups and plates can be heard coming from inside.
Amelius leads you through the front door and into the common room, which has a large bar against the wall on the left and five tables with chairs scattered about. A half-dozen mostly human customers sit in small groups, although an older man sits by himself staring into the unlit fireplace. Over the bar is the stuffed, moth-eaten head of what looks to be an actual minotaur that stares down on everyone with a surprised expression on its face.
Two adult humans, a man stand behind the bar, while a younger girl serves drinks and occasionally walks into the kitchen to bring in food.
Allysen accepts the coins with a mutter of thanks.
MWG flags down the girl, and when she comes over asks her what's available to eat, and for how much.
Glad that there's a sign painted to identify the place, Allysen follows along. She figures that she has enough of a lead now that a night of free drinks won't get her killed. She takes a seat next to Moves with Grace as the other woman flags down the serving girl.
"I'll take whatever she's having," the half-elf says while hooking a thumb at Grace, "and anything strong that doesn't taste like it came from an ogre."
The young waitress (who doesn't look more than 14 or 15) looks a bit confused at Allysen's request.
"How do things from an ogre taste? I can't imagine it tastes very good though, can it?"
"I'll bring you two ales, that's what my dad brewed just last week. It's quite nice and not too strong, so you can enjoy quite a bit of it! As for food, tonight we have a hearty fish stew that we serve with our own bread and butter. That sound good?"
She quotes a very reasonable price for food and drink . and as long as there are no objections, she then rushes off to tell the bartender and the kitchen your owners.
The bartender comes over to your table and makes a short introduction.
"Greetings strangers, my name is Geilkuff and I am the owner of the Dying Minotaur. I don't believe I've ever seen you before. What brings you to town and will you be needing a room?"
Grakkus clears his throat before giving the innkeeper his answer. "I've stayed here before, Master Geilkuff, but you probably don't remember here. My name is Grakkus and your girl was just a babe in arms back then."
The innkeeper smiles warmly at the mention, but admits that he does not remember the dwarf.
"Greetings, Geilkuff. Yes we'll need rooms - how much are they per night, and do you have enough available that we can each have our own if we wish?"
Allysen gives a chuckle at the girl's reply before telling her that her suggestion will be fine. It'll take days for Ma Belladona to figure out where she'd gone, she reasons and makes herself relax.
Geilkuff nods at Moves with Grace's question.
"Private rooms are a gold a piece a night. We have eight of them, and none of them are currently occupies. You can also sleep in the common room for a silver a night."
The young waitress brings you your drinks and after several minutes more you food arrives as well. After living off the trail rations you took with you on the Old Dwarf Road, the meal seems like a veritable feast, even though you know that it is rather simple (if tasty) fare.
While you are eating, one of the older gentlemen in the Dying Minotaur drags up a chair and introduces himself.
"Greetings, y'all, and welcome to Saltmarsh. We don't have much, but what we have is salty! That's the unofficial town saying, you know? Anyways, my name is Merrick and I'm a trapper. Lived here all my life. Where are all of you from? Don't get many travelers here, especially not this early in the season!"
Belros barely holds the bag before he tucks it away. Whether this is confidence or a lack of caring of the amount is difficult to tell.
"My thanks, Amelius. May your fortunes be bright."
The elven lord tucks into the food, with a sliver more gusto than many of his kind.
"My thanks to the cook! And greetings, Merrick. I am Lord Belros Sunwalker, Servant of Pelor. Are there any other travellers in town?"
"Hello," Allysen says as the newcomer introduces himself in a token effort to not appear rude before returning to her meal. The man's demeanor was friendly enough, she guessed, but she was already pushing her luck. No since in pushing it further.
Merrick seems pleased that someone is willing to talk to him and pulls his chair closer.
"Oh yes, yes indeed. A group of rough-looking tomb robbers are renting the old Mackeezie farm house in the apple orchard. They arrived a bit over a week ago, put a large down payment on the rental, and then promptly left to explore the Reddy Forest from what I hear. People say that there's an old Suloise temple to some forgotten god there. No one in town has had the courage to go investigate, though, what with the local lizardfolk attacks. What brings you folk into town? It's a bit early in the year for the overland caravans, isn't it?"
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Isagoras had kept his own council for the most part, paging through his book and contemplating some ancient truth that he felt no need to share with anyone.
He remains obtusely silent when dinner is ordered, though out of deliberate rudeness or an opaque attention to such mundane needs as food, it is not known.
When the meal arrives, the smell seems to bring him from his reverie and he tucks in with the vigor of a man who prides himself on his skills as a trencherman. Thick-sliced turnips crown slices of bread before disappearing into his gullet, and multiple cups of both water and wine are drowned, never to be seen again.
At the mention of tomb-robbers, his muse is piqued enough to show some curiosity about a thing belonging to the outside world.
"Eh? What do you say there, good Merrick? An ancient temple you say? And no doubt the last residence of some lost religion and the powerful treasures they had guarded?
Hmmm, I would council caution against such adventures. Long lost temple are, betimes, lost for a good reason.
Ah, well, they had not asked me about such, so I must needs simply assumed that they had a ranger capable of wrestling a wolf to death, so then they aught to be fine.
Although, if they are not, then perhaps we should at least look in on them and make sure they are okay."
Isagoras interrupts his own musings with more turnip.
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"Oh, a turnip man, I see," Merrick muses, giving Isagoras an appraising look. "I prefer beets myself." The trapper then goes off on an extended examination of root vegetables, one, you'd guess, he's practiced many times.
"The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious.
Our people get their physical characteristics from potatoes, their smoldering inquietude from radishes, their seriousness from beets.
The beet is the melancholy vegetable, the one most willing to suffer. You can't squeeze blood out of a turnip...
The beet is the murderer returned to the scene of the crime. The beet is what happens when the cherry finishes with the carrot. The beet is the ancient ancestor of the autumn moon, bearded, buried, all but fossilized; the dark green sails of the grounded moon-boat stitched with veins of primordial plasma; the kite string that once connected the moon to the Earth now a muddy whisker drilling desperately for rubies."
MWG initially says "Hello" to the newcomer, but then keeps to herself, eating the food and listening to the rambling conversation.
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"Wrestling a wolf to death?" repeats a newcomer to the gathering. "Why Merrick, that sounds like something you did in your impetuous youth. Although, I believe it was two wolves, and if memory serves, you said you tore them apart with your bare hands, having no blade that would do the job!" He clasps the old trapper warmly around the shoulder. "As for your bit about the vegetables, what of the onion? I could go for a portion of offal with a side of buttered onions."
He shoots an eyebrow at Geilkuff. "The collection plates have been full, sir. My credit is good."
"Welcome to Saltmarsh, friends," he says to the group with a wide smile. "I am Reverend Wolfram Argyle, adjunct priest at the Temple of Procan, up the hill. All are welcome there!" The Reverend stands firmly on the ground, no stranger to plates of food. Approaching middle-age, his wide, jowly face seems to be supported by a higher power, and the lines around his eyes deepen equally from mirth and sorrow.
Wolfram extends a hand to Grakkus. "I believe we have met once before, Master Dwarf. I never forget a face. Now, I hope you don’t mind my intrusion, but it’s my job to know all the comings and goings in town. I heard the question asked but not answered: What brings you fine folks to Saltmarsh?"
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Isagoras stares appraisingly at Merrick. "That...is one of the most melodious defenses of a vegetable I have ever heard. And considering that I once debating a man who had married a rutabaga, that is high praise indeed! I shall endeavor to, at least, hate beets a bit more softly than I had afore."
That knot tied up, he turns to the good father. "I pleasure to meet thy acquaintance, Reverend Argyle. And to take up the point, onions have layers. Just like ogres. Ogres have layers, onions have layers.
Though I take that as an unmoving truth, the meaning of it has been long debated. One might conclude that it speaks to their emotional stability, that to each they are deep and fluid things, like the ocean, only showing you a tenth-part of their thinking or the rich, deep emotions that flow beneath their staid veneers.
But onions do so go so well with butter, and ogres are rich with ill-gotten gains, so I admit I do not dwell on it too deeply.
As far as to purpose, we are hear as, firstly, as mere caravan guards. A mile of dirt gained so that crowns are now in purse. An old story, predictable as fallout.
'Tis what holds in our future that is the ever-moving question."
Belros hones in on talk of a temple.
"Tomb robbers may desecrate a worthy place of the divine? Or uncover horrors from a corrupt shrine? We should investigate either way.", he says with determination.
"Welcome, Priest. I am Lord Belros Sunwalker, Servant of Pelor. And I would fight evils where I find them, having nothing to return to."
"I shall remember your words, good sir, should an ogre ever cross my plate. As for the future, who knows! My business is to impart the blessings of Procan upon our stalwart fishermen and merchants, that he may grant profitable seas in the days to come. But ask me how often He favorably intervenes; the rows of wooden markers counting the lost dead at Temple Cemetery speaks to that. Might as well flip a coin onto the breakwater and let the men guess it's face. The future you say! Make your own way - that's my advice, and good fortune be your reward.
"Lord," Wolfram nods to Belros, "If it is evil you seek to crush then I am your servant. I admit that Saltmarsh has seen lighter days, though not many. Grave robbers are nothing new but the sudden swell of intrigue caused by the Lizardmen on one side, the Dwarves on another, and finally the Crown has stirred a nest of rats, and the vermin have come to gnaw on our bones.
"If I may be so bold as to press - is your party of common mind in your altruism, or is it profit you seek? Master Grakkus, what tales have you sold these hearty folk?"
Grakkus shrugs his shoulders as a way of answering Argyle's question. "Yes, yes, I remember you as well, Master Priest. It has been a few years. As for what these ladies and gentlemen have planned, that you will have to ask them. My partner and I will be meeting the Wave Dancer, who is scheduled to dock in the next day or two, and will depart their company. They have managed to protect us quite well up to this point. They have worked for pay up to this point, but where they will go from here is up to them."
"What are temples but piles of stone given more weight than they ought have," Allysen mutters to herself as Wolfram joins their table. She gives the man a nod as he sits, but she keeps to herself much like Moves with Grace, though her silence seems more sullen and fretful than the aptly named woman's.
Another ale follows her first, then a third. She knows she's overdoing it, but she kept feeling agitated and her hands wouldn't stop their slight tremble. Halfway through her fourth drink, she speaks up.
"Pay and the chance to keep moving is all I need. Massster Grakkuss and hisss fellowss offered both so I took it. 'Sssssall anyone need know 'bout me," she says, swaying a little in her seat.
Wolfram bows gently and offers Allysen a smile in return, but the expression is less jovial and more empathetic. He has counseled hundreds of souls in his life, many who had experienced severe physical and emotional trauma. And in Saltmarsh, he has witnessed first hand the deep toll on children, orphaned or made fatherless by the Sea, and their intense struggle to survive. For those who would take it, the Temple and the Priests' mission would provide food, a straw bed under roof, and modest clothing to replace threadbare garments or in many cases, old sacks. But the Temple could not replace the love of one's parents, and those children would always be hardened.
He made no outright assumptions about Allysen, but some of the signs were conveyed in that simple, innocuous exchange.
"I believe that all of us were in need of coin signing onto the expedition. Now that we are further from being paupers, that is a fine question Wolfram. I for one seek to serve Pelor more than acquire a horde of coin."
"Welcome, Priest. I am Lord Belros Sunwalker, Servant of Pelor. And I would fight evils where I find them, having nothing to return to."
Merrick perks up a bit when he hears from Belros.
"Oh, Pelor! That's not one we get around here a lot. Pelor's not a big fan of the undead, now is he?"
Wolfram laughs deeply from his round belly. "The Sun Father! Perhaps if we had a we bit more sun in these parts, Pelor would have a larger congregation. That brine that falls from the sky keeps it well hidden most days. Still, you stand tall in my view being a follower of an honorable deity. And I know you won't take into your charge any who might fall in with the scrape and cutthroat, and we have too many of them around here as it is. That means I can trust the lot of you to do right by our community while you stay here. And if I can provide any aid to you all, or if you should require clerical services or just need a place to quarter if the coin runs low, I will do my best to serve.
Having had but one tankard of ale, MWG does not seem affected by it. Having listened for a while, she finally speaks up and says "I do not believe that all of us are motivated by promoting a deity or stopping the possible 'desecration' of some ancient temple. Indeed, if others had not already laid claim to such a search, I would be tempted to do it myself. But I for one seek worthy combat, excitement, and in all honesty, 'a hoarde of coin' as my comrade Belros puts it. Altho, if innocents in your town are being threatened by Lizard folk or others, my services are always available at no cost."
"You do me honour, gentlemen. That said, I do not speak for all the group, though I would oppose wrong where and when I see it. As for wealth, I do not oppose that so long as it is earned justly. I remember it being most useful."
Merrick listens closely to everyone's comments and takes another drink of his cup before realizing that it's empty.
He looks up and smiles warmly and with much appreciation.
"Say, you wouldn't mind buying an old man a drink? I've got an interesting story that you might find of worth, what being such honorable and enterprising ladies and gentlemen."
Even with her mind fuddled, Allysen's attention focuses on Merrick as he mentions an interesting story. She'd heard tales of Ma Belladonna from more than one person in a bar. A drink was more than worth whatever warning she could get. She waves down the serving girl and pays for the man's next drink.
"So what kind of story is it," she asks, sounding a little less drunk this time.
Belros is about to order but Allysen beats him to it.
I must become swifter still!, he muses.
"I too would hear this tale."
Merrick happily accepts the drink with a smile and a nod.
"Well, it's a bit of local lore, but one that I've had my own interaction with lately. As I've already told you, I'm a trapper. I trap for both meat and fur, but the latter pays better of course. I'm always on the lookout for creatures with beautiful pelts, so the other week I was traveling north of here near the haunted alchemist's place. It's an old, abandoned house on the coast that used to be the home of a wizard or alchemist, but he died or disappeared long ago. Most people around here avoid it, and believe that it's haunted, which I always thought was a load of bunk."
"So I was tracking some stoats north of here a few weeks back. I thought that maybe they were living up near the haunted house, so I followed them there. It was getting near evening, so I was a little nervous to be so near the house, but I've never been the superstitious type, so I entered one of the doors on the ground floor. There were rumors that the alchemist had a large treasure trove that he acquired in his younger days, but I was more interested in the stoats. I tracked them into the kitchen, which was large and dusty, and sure enough, there were some stoat tracks. So I was tracking them, when all of a sudden I see this apparition or ghost or something appear before me out of thin air! It points at me with a pointy finger and says something unintelligible, but I was so scared out of my mind that ran as fast as I could all the way back to Saltmash."
Belros listens with interest.
"Did you happen to see any other tracks besides those of the stoat? Just in case that jogs your memory."
Merrick thinks for a moment.
"Yes, I believe I did. I think I saw some vermin tracks; probably mice or rats. Also some giant spiders, judging by the webs, but that's about it."
Belros nods.
"Duly noted. And that gives warning. That house may well be worth investigating if there a tormented spirit there. Or a tormenting one."
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Isagoras chuckles from behind the scroll that he got from somewhere. "Mmm. Master Merrick, non-corporeal apparition are so exceedingly rare as to defy reality. Surely what you saw was no more than some fellow trapper or a ne'er-do-well vagabond that had gotten soaked and was wearing clothing of an odd sort, and in your excited and nervous state, you took such an odd sight as a doombringer, without stopping for so much as a heartbeat to confirm what your eyes were seeing.
Still, if such superstitious poppycock has kept the other temple-raiders at bay, mayhap there might be gilt enough to make the trip worthwhile. And giant spiders always make for an exciting hunting expedition!"
Merrick seems a bit put-off by Isagoras' assessment of him.
"I think I know quite well the difference between a man in a sheet and an honest-to-goodness ghost or spirit from beyond the grave! I could see through him for starters! I'm not some brain-addled fool from the mountains!"
Merrick seems to be growing less fond of Isagoras by the minute.
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"Well then there's an end to it!" Isagoras spouts joyfully, rolling up his scroll. "If you so extraordinarily emphatic, then we shall sojourn to this sepulcher and have dealings with this messenger beyond the grave!" he says, liking Merrick and thinking him a good, straight friend.
"Wolfram? A man of the cloth and a faith of all things Unseen would prove to be fascinated by an encounter, I should think. Wouldst thee be joining us on this excursion?
Well, 'tis more a 'trek' than an excursion, I surmise...."
"Isagoras, you are making assumptions. There are many strange matters in this world, and even the wise do not know all for certain. We most certainly should investigate however."
"Wolfram, is the old temple far from this haunted house?"