Owing to its proximity to Breachill Town Hall, the Wizard's Grace tavern is the favored establishment of the many adventurers who wish to seek work from the council in the town's monthly Call for Heroes. Here, adventurers and municipal workers regularly mingle, exchanging stories and generally enjoying the atmosphere created by the diverse clientele.
Over the past few days, the tavern has grown particularly busy, as hopeful adventurers seek to make an impression on the locals, particularly any town officials who might have stopped by for a drink and a meal. Today at noon the Call for Heroes will be held, and Trinil Uskwold is presiding over the traditional meal of boar stew with lentils for hopefuls and spectators alike.
Several tables have been pushed together in the center of the room, where a strapping man is holding court among a crowd of well-wishers and hangers-on. This is clearly the most raucous section of the tavern.
At the bar, a well-dressed older man with a bald head and a carefully-tended goatee nurses a drink while observing the room with a twinkling eye.
In a far corner, a thin halfling man with unkempt, graying hair hunches over a table, shuffling anxiously through a sheaf of handwritten papers.
The morning of the Call for Heroes, innkeeper Trinil spends much of her time in the kitchen preparing her famous boar stew, leaving the bartending and serving to a young brunette human woman of about 20 summers who bears a familial resemblance to the older proprietress. The young lady is light-hearted and gregarious for the most part, except for when hungry folk who can't wait until the stew is served at noon ask for breakfast...and specifically request that Trinil cook it. Then she can be heard muttering, "What's wrong with my cooking?" under her breath as she scoots into the kitchen to see the orders filled.
Walking with the upright stature and bright eyes of a halfling that clearly considers that he's soon about to start on an adventure Gethric enters the Wizard's Grace brushing his hands off against a well worn, but comfortable vest. Flour stains both the somewhat ample belly as well as the sides of his breeches, betraying the morning spent with his father in the family business.
Game smile on his face he peers about the room...
...looking for a table that's neither too close nor too far from where festivities might break out in earnest... perhaps closer to the aged halfling than the strapping one holding court. Tied off to a belt loop is a weighty hankerchief that appears to bear a bounty of bread rolls, and the smell of stew engenders a certain rumbling to issue from within.
Following the halfling, a goblin enters the Wizard's Grace tavern. She's scrawny, bald and barely three feet tall, her skin a range of olive and pale green. She wears a simple robe of midnight blue and carries a stuffed backpack that was once well-made but has been ill-cared for. A leather chord around her neck holds a small wooden disk with the holy symbol of Desna on it. The goblin has been in town for a few days, most of which she spent in the Great Dreamhouse. She has been seen roaming around town from time to time and could be found on occasion taking a nap at the feet of Lamond Breachton's bronze statue.
The goblin woman stays near the doorway for a few seconds, glancing around the room. Right, I have to make a good impression! Which means I have to talk to some of these people. Her beady eyes rove around the room. Hmm, no. That's way too many people. Ugh, he has a thin beard-thing. Gross! She eventually spots a suitable candidate for talking to and makes her way over to the thin halfling in the far corner. She quickly hops on an empty chair at his table. "Hi, I'm Revka," she says, beaming her absolute friendliest smile at him, a grimace that fully bares her rows of sharp teeth. "What are you doing?" She closes her mouth and looks at the halfling with genuine interest.
A young halfling woman, still thinner than most of her kind despite a year in Breachill, sidles into the tavern. She instinctively looks around to categorize everyone she sees. One year hasn’t been nearly enough to quell all of her paranoia. Any possible threats?
Her shoulders relax as she registers only the usual locals and hopeful adventurers in the tavern. As she approaches the bar, her face breaks out into a smile. ”Hey Darla, how’s business today? Looks pretty busy; hope you’ve still got plenty of stew left!”
Gellius enters the tavern quietly, surveying the assembled patrons as he stands near the door. Newly arrived in Breachill he is unknown to the townsfolk, yet still moves with a surety born from years living with his noble family. Dressed in simple but finely made clothes, he meets the gaze of the older, well dressed man and offers a friendly smile.
Seeing a pair of halflings approaching the bar at the same time, Darla decides to take the opportunity to address the small folk in their ancestral tongue, a language she's picked up only over the past few years (mainly from haggling with Crink Twiddleton of Quarters and Bits).
Motioning with her head toward one end of the bar where a jovial middle-aged woman armed with a ladle and a smile is chatting with the patrons while serving stew from a large cauldron, Darla says, "Mother's in charge of the stew, as always. Can I get you something to drink? We've recently got a shipment of ale from the dwarves of Davarn that's getting rave reviews from our customers: Kegdelver's Brown Ale and Kegdelver's Stout. I recommend the brown ale--the stout's got about the same consistency as Mother's stew!"
The overmuscled windbag holding court in the center of the room is Neven Deckard, a lumberjack at Breach Creek Lumber and the new and proud holder of an official Hero token from the town council. He and some of his cronies were hired a few months back to deal with a menace killing livestock on some outlying farms and came back with a scrawny pair of dead wolves. Popular opinion is that he's going to be the next local boy to make it big, but in your experience, he's a self-obsessed boor. He's always considered himself Shelyn's gift to the women of Breachill, but his new celebrity has made him even harder to stomach.
The balding man at the bar is Quentino Posandi, owner of Posandi Brothers masonry and town council member.
The halfling is a newcomer to Breachill, only arriving several months ago. He's pushing the town's traditional welcome to strangers to the limit, with his unpredictable behavior and unfriendly attitude. Voz Lirayne, the half-elf who runs Reliant Book Company, gave him a job in her store, but you've overheard townsfolk worrying about her welfare if he turns suddenly violent. The halfling, Calmont Trenault, is known for extreme bigotry against goblins, almost becoming apoplectic when he learned about the reclusive Bumblebrasher tribe that lives harmlessly in the old citadel on Hellknight Hill, and ... Desna's stars! there's a strange goblin approaching him now!
The balding man at the bar is Quentino Posandi, owner of Posandi Brothers masonry and town council member.
The halfling, Calmont Trenault, is a newcomer to Breachill, only arriving several months ago. He works at the Reliant Book Company.
Wide smile undiminished Gethric responds to Darla "No ale for me... well not now at least, can't be working on diminishing my wits when I might be needing them. I'd be for water eventually, but not rushing for it. Stew on the other hand... might help to soften down the rye payload bound for my stomach." pausing a moment to ponder, before blinking a couple of times and shaking his head.
Careless thought flittered from mind, Gethric continues as much to the air before him as to any other listener "Bit busy... wonder what the council's after this Call..."
"Your guess is a good as...Oh my!" Darla's eyes widen in alarm and she stares at a corner table.
"There's going to be trouble!" she whispers to the two halflings near her. "I don't know if you've met your kinsman over in the corner there. His name is Calmont Trenault, and he works at the Reliant Book Company. Not the most sociable fellow, but he harbors a deep hatred of goblins...and one just came in and sat at his table!"
Darla reaches under the countertop and grabs a sap before coming around the end of the bar and heading toward Trenault and the goblin, trying to catch her mother's eye as she goes. In an effort to appear at least semi-diplomatic, she tries to hide the weapon in the folds of her apron.
Gellius enters the tavern quietly, surveying the assembled patrons as he stands near the door. Newly arrived in Breachill he is unknown to the townsfolk, yet still moves with a surety born from years living with his noble family. Dressed in simple but finely made clothes, he meets the gaze of the older, well dressed man and offers a friendly smile.
The man returns a cordial nod for the smile. "Welcome! You're a stranger to Breachill, I believe? Let me buy you a drink. The name's Posandi." He draws a leather purse from his pocket, and the clink of coins can be heard from within.
She eventually spots a suitable candidate for talking to and makes her way over to the thin halfling in the far corner. She quickly hops on an empty chair at his table. "Hi, I'm Revka," she says, beaming her absolute friendliest smile at him, a grimace that fully bares her rows of sharp teeth. "What are you doing?" She closes her mouth and looks at the halfling with genuine interest.
The halfling looks across the table at her with wide eyes that seem to grow wider the longer he stares. He says nothing, but his chest swells up like a bullfrog's under his shabby coat and ink-stained shirt. His fingers scrabble blindly at his papers as he seems unable to take his eyes off Revka. "You... it... that...," he sputters.
Darla arrives breathlessly at the table a moment later. The seemingly innocuous conversation has attracted the attention of some other patrons, some of whom have half-risen from their seats while others are just watching warily.
Revka is quite nonplussed by the halfling's reaction. "I'm sorry," she squeaks. She looks down at the papers he tries to collect. "I was thinking, with everyone excited about the Call, you might be interested in a chat. Did I come at a bad time? I could come back later, if that's better? she rambles. She sounds unsure and her eyes dart from side to side, now noticing the people looking at them. "Did I say something wrong...?" she asks of no one in particular.
"No, no--you've done nothing wrong," Darla tries to assure the unusually polite goblin. "It's just that Master Trenault prefers to have privacy when he's doing his...paperwork." It strikes Darla just then that it's a bit odd for the halfling to have brought a bunch of papers to the Call for Heroes, so she surreptitiously tries to get a peek at whatever Calmont's working on.
"If you'd be so kind as to come with me, I can seat you at another table...one closer to the stewpot!"
Aronida turns around to see what's going on. Strange, I don't think I've ever seen him before.
It looks like Darla is trying to handle things diplomatically, so Aronida decides to stay where she is for now. Glancing at her fellow halfling, she says in a low voice, "Probably best not to crowd them. If he's scared of goblins, making him feel like we're ganging up on him won't help."
The scene having unfolded faster than his reactions, Gethric nods an affirmation to Aronida's sotto voce suggestion. Turning and tilting his head to one side he pauses a moment to see if the tableau plays out further...
“Well met, Posandi. I trust business is treating you well? My name is Gellius Tauranor, from Correntyn,” he introduces himself, taking a seat beside the businessman. “Visiting your town for the famous Call for Heroes. A fine tradition, I must say. Have you seen many likely prospects for the current tasks at hand?”
Settling in beside the councillor, Gellius surveys the tavern once more, noting the crowd around the strapping young man in particular.
Revka turns on her chair to look up at Darla. "Well, he could have just said so. I went over to introduce myself - I was really friendly! - and he went all weird. It wasn't very nice." She sounds a bit indignant.
At the mention of stew, any such feelings - or the gray-haired halfling in general - are quickly forgotten. She swiftly hops off her chair to follow Darla. Her eyes grow bright with the anticipation of food. "Stew? Is it spicy? What's it made of?" Maybe it's dog! Nah, probably not... I bet the longshanks would really like it, though, if they just tried!
As Darla leads the goblin away, the indignant halfling rises to his feet. Clutching his papers to his chest, he drops a few copper coins on the table to cover his fare, blankets the room with an all-encompassing glare of outrage, and stalks out of the tavern. As the door closes behind him, the unnatural silence that had fallen on the crowd is broken; with a sense of amusement or relief, the patrons return to their previous conversations.
“Well met, Posandi. I trust business is treating you well? My name is Gellius Tauranor, from Correntyn,” he introduces himself, taking a seat beside the businessman. “Visiting your town for the famous Call for Heroes. A fine tradition, I must say. Have you seen many likely prospects for the current tasks at hand?”
Posandi shakes the newcomer's hand, gesturing to the barkeep and placing a coin on the counter for Gellius's drink. "Can't complain about business. Prospects? Scoping out the competition, are you?" He smiles and lowers his voice. "That young man at the center of the ... well, I was going to say 'room,' but I might as well say 'attention,' mightn't I? He's the current favorite. Local boy who had some success at ending a threat to some farmers' livelihood recently. Looks the hero type, doesn't he -- if you favor brawn, at any rate." He settles back on his barstool and casts an appraising eye over Gellius. "What about you, sir? What qualifications do you possess?"
Once Calmont has left the tavern, Darla breathes a bit easier. When the goblin asks about her mother's famous stew, the young woman smiles down and says, "It's mainly boar meat and lentils, though there are quite a few spices in the mix as well. It's more 'zesty' than 'hot,' though I could use magic to raise the heat factor if you'd like."
Revka follows Darla to another table. She nods at the mention of the stew's ingredients, seeming somewhat satisfied. I knew it. No dog... Her attention isn't truly piqued until the mention of magic. "You can do magic? To make the food like... really hot?" She starts salivating already and uses the sleeve of her dress across her mouth to wipe it off. "Show me, show me," she urges Darla on with excitement. Then a thought occurs to her. "If you can make it taste spicy, can you make the boar taste like dog as well? Or is it just spicy-magic...?"
Darla's smile widens to a grin when the excited goblin urges her to cast a cantrip to further flavor her bowl of stew. "Zest-idigi-taste-ion!" she says in a sing-song tone while twiddling her fingers over the bowl. The grin vanishes suddenly, however. "Did...did you say to make the boar meat taste like dog?" she asks uncertainly.
Posandi shakes the newcomer's hand, gesturing to the barkeep and placing a coin on the counter for Gellius's drink. "Can't complain about business. Prospects? Scoping out the competition, are you?" He smiles and lowers his voice. "That young man at the center of the ... well, I was going to say 'room,' but I might as well say 'attention,' mightn't I? He's the current favorite. Local boy who had some success at ending a threat to some farmers' livelihood recently. Looks the hero type, doesn't he -- if you favor brawn, at any rate." He settles back on his barstool and casts an appraising eye over Gellius. "What about you, sir? What qualifications do you possess?"
Gellius smiles at Posandi’s characterisation of the young man as he accepts the drink, nodding in agreement.
“Oh I’ve worked extensively managing my family’s interests, although more recently I undertook basic training with the Hellknights back home in Corentyn,” he replies nodding towards Veren. “Suffice to say our friend over there would have fitted in far better with the Order of the Chain than I did.” Returning his attention to meet Posandi’s eyes he gives a slight shrug and a rueful smile.
“Within a year, it was clear to everyone that I wasn’t cut out to be a knight,” he continues. “However, the skills I’d learned from the family business were invaluable to the order’s less martial endeavours. I began working with the elderly Castellan there and would probably have taken over from him. However, I read of an old, abandoned citadel near here…Citadel Alteirain? I was very keen to come and see it for myself and your Call for Heroes provided the perfect excuse.”
“I haven’t travelled much beyond Corentyn up until now,” he concludes. “In a large family one sometimes faces the choice of toiling for years, unnoticed – rising and falling with one’s family. Or striking out alone and forging one’s own destiny. The Hellknights were to be my route into a new future and while they may have provided new opportunities, I felt my true calling lies elsewhere.”
Revka claps excitedly as Darla casts her spell. However, she quickly realizes something is up by the shift in her demeanor. It's probably only spicy-magic... I don't want her to feel sad about that. Revka avoids the question by digging into the bowl of stew, which she's all too glad to do. She grips the spoon in her small fist and swiftly stows a few spoonfuls in her mouth. "Wiv iv guuud," she exclaims with her mouth still half-full, while she ladles a few more spoons into her mouth. She swallows and tastes the burn on her tongue. "Hmmmm! Thank you!
Moving the topic away from the food, Revka asks a question that has been on her mind for a bit. "You work here, so you probably know lots of people. Do you know someone I could Make a Good Impression with?" She emphasizes the words as if she's repeated them often, like a mantra.
It looks like Darla is trying to handle things diplomatically, so Aronida decides to stay where she is for now. Glancing at her fellow halfling, she says in a low voice, "Probably best not to crowd them. If he's scared of goblins, making him feel like we're ganging up on him won't help."
With a shrug of his shoulders and a spin back towards the bar, Gethric asks "So.... stew? I've got some of da's rye rolls with me if you've a care to make it even stouter?..." gesturing towards where they might avail themselves of the repast.
Drama ended, Aronida shrugs and also turns back to the bar. Wonder what happened to make him hate goblins so much?
"A rye roll or two sounds fantastic if you don't mind sharing. Just the thing to mop up the stew! Speaking of which," she raises her voice slightly. "Trinil, do you have any bowls ready?"
Patting the kerchief tied off at his belt Gethric confirms "Always prepared" with a wink before looking to follow Aronida t'wards the meal.
"Trinil, do you have any bowls ready?"
A few moments later, a teenager whose red hair and other family resemblance would announce him Trinil's son and Darla's brother even if the halflings didn't already know him as Daltan Uskwold, deposits a bowl before each. "Looks like Darla's got a new best friend," he mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes with amusement toward where his sister is engaged in conversation with the strange goblin. "If she keeps ignoring the customers, do us a favor and peg one of those at her to get her attention." He nods at Gethric's rolls with a wink before departing to deal with other patrons.
A meaty hand pats Darla's shoulder reassuringly. "Everything all right here now?" It's the young man from the center table; he looks from Darla to the goblin, radiating concern. "Neven Deckard, official Hero," he introduces himself to Revka, taking her small greenish hand in his large reddish one. "You all right, little ... friend? You have any more trouble around Breachill, you just talk to Neven, all right?"
Posandi nods with interest at the mention of Corentyn. "Ah, yes, the citadel." He takes a sip from his mug. "I was quite a young man when they departed. My father thought it would be the ruin of this town when they left. I don't think he ever got over his rage at Korvosa for stealing them away from us. My mother tried to convince him it was a compliment to us: that there was clearly more 'savagery' to be quelled in the wilds of Varisia than could be found within a day's ride of Breachill. That was before the Goblinblood Wars, of course; we certainly would have felt safer then with more than a skeleton crew up there on Hellknight Hill. Still, we came through all right. When the Order pulled out altogether and abandoned the citadel eight years ago, we hardly noticed."
The strapping man with the big hands seems to come as summoned by Revka's words. She immediately puts down her spoon to shake the man's hand. Or been shaken hands with, if that's a thing. She doesn't pick up on his concern, too busy with trying to make a good impression. "Hello, Sir. Nice to meet you. I'm Revka!" She takes up the spoon again and points at the bowl in front of her. "I don't have any trouble. Things are very good, in fact! Have you tried the stew? It's boar, but it's really good. Especially with some extra magic from this longsh- person here!" She chomps down on a few more spoonfuls and promptly burps. "So, you're a real official hero?" Revka sounds impressed. "How do you become an official hero? Is that when you're selected for the Call? I'm here to volunteer, too!"
'Make a good impression with'...? The goblin's simple request takes Darla a bit off-guard, and the barkeep begins scanning the common room for folks who might fit the bill. Councilman Quentino Posandi is the first to catch her eye, but he's currently speaking with a stranger--a somewhat handsome fellow who's dressed better than pretty much everyone else in the room.
Well, your name is Handsome Fancypants until I get a real one to go with your face! Darla decides. Just then, Neven's hand pats her shoulder and the big lug interjects himself (Late as usual!) into the situation. When Revka seems genuinely happy and lets slip that she's here for the Call for Heroes herself, Darla decides that the big blowhard is harmless enough to engage the goblin's attention for now.
"Looks like you two have hit it off," Darla comments, mostly to Revka (as she's actively trying to avoid speaking to Neven). "If you need some more stew or magical seasoning, just give me a yell. My name's Darla."
"Thanks Daltan!" Aronida calls out after the boy. She immediately starts devouring the stew. Always eat quickly in case you're interrupted. Don't eat so much it'll slow you down, but keep as nourished as possible. You never know how long it might be before your next meal.
Besides, this stew is really good.
Gethric offers Dalton a smile and half wink, before turning his attention to the stew. Eschewing the boar for the most part, the halfling methodically works at tearing off spoon-ish shaped bits of bread from a roll to sweep up the lentils.
Out of the periphery of his eye, he keeps an interest in the ballad of the braggard and the barmaid... pondering if a pelted roll or catapulted chuck of lentily boar would be better to disengage tall, vain and pompous.
Noting Aronida's focus on efficient devouring Gethric chuckles in a friendly manner "Take a breath... I doubt the bowl is going to make a break for it."
"When the Order pulled out altogether and abandoned the citadel eight years ago, we hardly noticed."
"No doubt the sign of a well run town," remarks Gellius. "There's no question the Hellknights bring protection and discipline, but a community that stands up for itself and survives will always be stronger than one with order imposed upon it."
"You can see why I didn't fit in with the Order," he grins. "Comments like that one would have earned me extra duties for a week!"
"So, you're a real official hero?" Revka sounds impressed. "How do you become an official hero? Is that when you're selected for the Call? I'm here to volunteer, too!"
"That's right, little ... Revka," he replies suavely, pulling a small bronze medallion from his pocket for her to admire. "Of course, you have to successfully complete your mission to be awarded a token." He hands the goblin the token. On one side Revka recognizes the face of the man in the statue; on the other side are words: The Kindness of Strangers.
The door opens, and a middle-aged woman dressed all in black enters the tavern. Despite her funereal garb, she looks positively delighted, waving to acquaintances with hands wrapped in elbow-length satin gloves. A gauzy black veil flutters over her eyes, and a multitude of chins quiver beneath her smile.
Her gaze settles on Quentino Posandi. "Quentino!" she calls out in a trilling voice as she rushes across the tavern toward him. "Who is your handsome friend?" Beneath her veil, her eyelashes flutter at Gellius.
The arrival of the gauze veiled lady sends a discomfiting shiver up Gethric spine, though he hides too much of an outward showing of it.
Gellius stands and inclines his head politely, waiting for Quentino Posandi to make introductions.
"Thank you Darla," Revka says as the inkeeper's daughter seems ready to go. "You're really nice," she adds with a smile.
She then turns back to Neven and takes the bronze medallion that he offers, studying it carefully. "Wow," she says, and is about to ask some more questions when the figure in black enters the tavern. "Gosh, she seems really important! Who is she?" Revka asks Neven, the now-forgotten medallion still in her hand. "Should I go over to introduce myself?"
Aronida rolls her eyes at Valaskin's overdramatic appearance. Undertaker or not, that outfit is in extremely bad taste. As the woman makes a beeline for Posandi's table, she snorts under her breath. "Looks like the vulture has chosen her prey."
She turns her attention back to the stew, using the roll to mop up the last dregs from the bottom. "Ah, that's better." Seeing Gethric deliberately avoid the boar in his own bowl, she asks, "Not a fan of boar, or of meat in general?"
Gellius stands and inclines his head politely, waiting for Quentino Posandi to make introductions.
"Er, yes," Posandi replies. "Morta, may I present Gellius Tauranor of Corentyn? Mr. Tauranor, Morta Valaskin, a local, er, business owner."
"Corentyn? My! Imagine coming all that way," the woman coos, letting Gellius claps her fingertips in greeting. "So strong and vigorous! And so young ... so very young," she looks at him in sympathy. "Such a strong, young man as you, I'll wager you've given no thought at all to your final arrangements." She concludes her sentence in a stage whisper.
"Gosh, she seems really important! Who is she?" Revka asks Neven, the now-forgotten medallion still in her hand. "Should I go over to introduce myself?"
"Uhh, I wouldn't," Neven replies, glancing over at Morta Valaskin as he quietly retrieves his prized token. "I mean, I wouldn't let her know you're volunteering for the Call. She's the local stiff stacker ... the undertaker," he ventures, unschooled in goblin funerary customs. "When someone dies, she disposes of the body. She sees the Call for Heroes as an opportunity; if she hears you intend to volunteer, she'll be measuring you for a coffin."
Gethric furrows his brow slightly in thought at Aronida's question before glancing down at his stew bowl and a flash of recognition flitters crosswise his face. Shrugging with a grin he replies "Bread and lentils is heavy enough... if I'm not lucky here then I'll be back at hearth this afternoon, belly full can turn to rock and quease without too much effort." nervously chuckling before he takes a deep and purposeful breath.
By way of calming himself he picks up his as yet unused spoon and begins to spin it around his fingers with a touch of adroit flair. Hesitantly he asks Aronida "Are you... here to get lucky too?" with a slight raised eyebrow and inflection. To an onlooker the entendres might be flying in double or triple file... but the innocence on Gethric's face belies any propositioning.
"Depends on what you mean by 'get lucky'" Aronida smiles. "I'm here to try out for the Call of Heroes, if that's what you mean. It's not so bad; mostly they just need help with cleaning rats out of cellars and such. Have you ever participated before?"
Nodding enthusiastically "Aye, that's the one... and no, I haven't raised a hand before... nor has anyone in my family. My da wants me knee deep in flour and yeast, but..." shrugging "There has got to be more. Can't be just the tall ones that get written into poems and stories right?"
"Such a strong, young man as you, I'll wager you've given no thought at all to your final arrangements." She concludes her sentence in a stage whisper.
“Ms Valaskin, pleased to meet you,” answers Gellius as he takes her hand in the formal, Chelaxian manner, gesturing for her to join them. “I do try to cover all contingencies, but will confess I’m not always as prepared as I should be. However, I’m always on the lookout for friendly advice if you have any to offer. Wine?”
Presuming she joins them and Quentino remains, Gellius will try and catch the eye of one of the tavern’s staff to order wine or whatever his companions prefer.