"Why thank, yew! Ah admit it's-" Sprig stops speaking as the automaton begins to blare its alarm. Narrowing his eyes, the kobold slowly reaches into his coat before whirling around and firing a shot from his pistol.
Casey looks to the robot curiously and then is startled by the gunshot. "What in the blazes are you doin'?!" he asks the kobold, somewhat perturbed, as his only thought is himself getting nearly shot.
He had been quietly enjoying his meal when the robot began making its ruckus. He leapt to his feet and grabbed his polearm spinning about looking for anything closing in on them when the shot rang out.
Like Casey, he was confused only doubling his efforts to see what the ruckus was about.
The kobold shout angrily, his jaws snapping as he talks. "This is why Ah hate clankers! Ah invite 'em into the sanctity of mah camp an' it repays my kindness by try'n t' attack mah friends!"
"It ain't done nothin'! Do you see it pullin' a gun on any of us?! Or even swingin' its arms at us?! You ever thought that maybe we just might've hit on what it's tryin' to tell us?! Think before ya shoot, partner," he tells him, pointing a finger at his own head to emphasize the word 'think'.
Brindle scampers into a leap that end in a weapon-bearing crouch as the gunshot rings out. It takes a few moments to realise the gunfire emanates from inside her camp rather than out. The gnoll tenses, waiting to see what happens next.
The robot begins to shake as it blares, whatever passes for willpower mustering forth,, ”Compliance mandatory. Lethal force authorized.”
It begins to move.
That is, until, Sprig takes a shot at it. The bot doesn’t stand a chance. Already fragile, Sprig’s bullet hits it squarely in the head, the bullet obliterating any remaining processing power. It falls. It does not rise.
Sprig let out a slow sigh as the tension seeped out of his body. His arms fell limp and he slowly trudged back to his seat by the campfire. Dropping his gun, the kobold picks up his hastily discarded bowl and eats his soup.
After cleaning his bowl, Sprig rather awkwardly tries to continue the earlier conversation. "Ah admit it's a lot of pressure running a caravan. it's nice having real food and shelter, but Ah can't jes' make do, Ah gotta keep up a certain lifestyle. If Ah looked 'n acted scruffy, folk would sooner string me up like evenin's roast than talk to me."
Once again gripping his pistol, Sprig polishes the barrel with a old rag before stowing it into his coat.
Saraon watches the events unfold without interfering.
"It probably would not have ended any other way. When communication is impossible, understanding cannot be made. For what it's worth, I am sorry."
It's not exactly clear who he's apologizing TO, though.
When it was clear Sprig was taking a shot at the robot he moved bring the butt end of his bardiche into play trying to knock the robot over even as it fell back.
"Bah blasted old robits. I wouldnt be too hard on him. I didnt say anything earlier, but im sort of glad its down. Can't trust those old things most of the time. There was uh.. this time about eight years back this group of uh... folk i ran with came across a couple of robots still in some sort of working order but were turned off or something. They thought maybe they could sell em part em out what have you. Anyhow damned things woke up in transport in the middle of a big ol dust storm. Starting laying into the group left and right, The smart ones in our group we fled and just met back later at uh the home camp."
He paused shaking his head as he poked at the thing ready to smash it more if it seemed to move again.
"The scraps are still worth something to the curious anyway so alls well i suppose."
He added settling back down to more of the magical stew.
Ralrae is still holding his bowl of soup, mid-sip, as Sprig jumps into action; everything has settled down again and Sprig resumes the conversation before Ralrae can even get the bowl down. Ralrae blinks a couple of times as Sprig finishes his explanation about his lifestyle, and slowly drawls out a comment. "Huh. Do things like this happen often to you while traveling? This caravaning seems to be more... exciting... than I anticipated it would be... "
"This world is old and broken, Ralrae. Even the most mundane of tasks, even mere survival, carries danger far beyond what our ancestors could have imagined," Saraon comments as he eats. "You are right to be cautious, Bas. You have not just survived in this world thanks to it, but have thrived."
The robot, even if it were fully intact, is mostly scrap. However, some metal plates remain fairly undamaged, and would be worth around 40 gp.
The night passes uneventfully.
Sprig shakes his head. "The roads have been more dangerous of late. There's somethin' brewin' and Ah ain't too keen to let it surprise me."
At Ralrae's comment, the kobold laughs. "It's a little tougher 'n people appreciate. Wagons like these 'r the life blood of most small towns n' yew can bet this thing's th' tastiest target for miles."
The little lizard was up late, calming the spooked animals and chaining shut his strongbox. They'd be in Payday soon and he couldn't be too careful. He woke late, having slept like a log.
Saraon is up early the next day, greeting the sun with his morning ritual.
"Deatea deratea kidakida arugaru deatea deratea kidakida arugaru..."
After finishing, he joins the others in packing up the camp and preparing to complete the journey to Payday.
It’s late afternoon when the party nears Payday. Some scattered shacks indicate that a settlement is drawing near, and sure enough, the town center comes into view. To call the characters hanging around the town unsavory would do it a great disservice, for some of the wasteland’s worst folk come to Payday to apend their ill-gotten gains.
A large band of men and women ride past the party. They hoot and holler clearly excited for their visit to payday. Three bandits brawl just off the main street, and a general store proudly displays the sign All goods bought and sold. No questions asked.
The wagon rolls in front of the main saloon, the only two story building in town, a wood panel building called The King’s Court. Raucous music and noise floats out of it towards the party.
It’s a brief moment of calm before a man flies out of the swinging saloon doors. He lands in a crumpled heap on the ground. As he scrambles to his feet a woman’s voice roars from inside,
Saraon raises an eyebrow at the sight of the man getting through out of the King's Court. He approaches the man and attempts to help him up.
"Are you alright, friend?"
Casey watches the sight unfold, completely unresponsive to it as his toothpick is settled quietly within his mouth. Getting off his horse, he ties him off on the nearest post and walks into the saloon, ignoring the human heap upon the ground. Tipping the front of his hat down a bit, he looks for a table and finds one, taking a seat. He then nonchalantly glances around, taking an account for the type of patronage within.
Sprig is a little slow leaving his wagon, taking a moment to check his stash one more time. He jumps off the wagon right as Saraon picks up the stranger. Sprig looks around for a bench or something and motions the druid towards the nearest one.
"Old fool's been in th' sun too long. 'E jes needs to rest n let the liquor work its way out." The kobold is dismissive, but takes a cursory glance over the man, just in case.
The man looks up at the small dragon person and the taller man in a dragon mask. His eyebrows furrow and he mumbles, ”I ain’t doin nothin’ wish dragonsh. Gotta get outta here...”
He scrambles to his feet and runs off.
Saraon looks at Sprig. It's clear there's an eyebrow raised behind his mask.
"I don't think my mask is THAT impressive, do you?"
"This place looks alight indeed, watch your coin purses folks."
He began sparing just a slight glance for the man who had been thrown out. His grin got a little bigger when the man ran off scared of Saraon's helm.
"I wouldn't worry about him any, poor bastard probably ran out of coin Is this a work trip of the get go, or is this blow off steam time work tomorrow mr. Sprig?"
He began as he head torwards the doors.
Sprig lets out a barking laugh. "Ah'd take that as a compliment, Saraon."
When Bas speaks, the little lizard turns to give him a wink. "Ah think it's high time we cut loose a little. A few games o' chance 'n a couple drinks do wonders fer a weary man. Ah believe we're plannin' t' stay the night, so if yer wantin' fer company, best pay fer your own room."
Pushing aside the saloon doors, the kobold yells as loud as he can.
Given the dire warnings Brindle was given by her elders, the gnoll is not surprised at the barbarism on display. The “town” smells...off, a mixture of fear and sorrow and false bravado. The whole place seems alive, but twisted into a caricature of life like the wasteland given voice.
...
”I think he means my you Sh...Sprig. You’re the dragon. And sho is Sharyon.”
Brindle stands from her crouch and surveys the Main Street. She looks to Sprig with level seriousness.
”I’ll shtay with the wagon.”
Ralrae eyes the Kings Court, the street, and the folks walking by. "Brindle, that is an excellent idea. I'll keep you company, if you don't mind? That tavern looks a little too .... everything I don't like ... for me to go on in." He turns to the rest of the group. "Let's not be a payday for anyone else in Payday... do be cautious, Sprig. It's worth remembering not everyone wants to be friendly."
"Well then, do either of you want me to bring you out a bottle or something?"
He asked politely with a dumb grin on his half scarred face. While he wasnt looking forward to keeping a knife out of his back, He knew places like this cared less for what you looked like and more what your coin looked like. He handed Ralrae his Bardiche, not like the big long handled axe would be of any use in then if a fight broke out.
"Mind holding onto this for me? I'll try not to get into too much trouble."
He moved inside the place taking a long look over the place.
Sprig looks to Ralrae and Brindle with a smile. "Y'all 'er good folk... But I'll be fine, 'specially with you guys watchin' my back. With any luck, we'll be jes' inside fer a few hours and be ready t' push on for Exchange. If yew get bored, ah believe there's a chess set, some horseshoes 'n a pack of cards."
---
Once inside, Sprig buys himself (and everyone else) a pint. He tries to spot the woman they'd heard earlier amongst the crowd, or at least keep an eye on his companions. Don't want to get too separated.
Brindle’s smile mixes pleasure with relief.
”Yes..ss.” she enunciates clearly to Ralrae. She shakes her head to Bas’ offer.
”What is chesh?” she asks her infernal companion as Sprig takes his leave.
Inside the bar, it’s a raucous scene. A large collection of men and women sit around drinking, smoking, singing, and playing cards. A half-orc sits at a piano, playing a jaunty tune with surprising skill while several men seem to be starting a fist fight on the second floor. An icon of the Bandit King hangs above the bar.
This action stops when the party enters. A few dozen eyes tun towards the party.
It’s not hard to spot the woman who the voice came from. A muscular woman stands behind the bar, unwrapping boxing tape from her hands.
She smiles at Sprig’s proclamation and says, ”Big spender? Well, I’m sure that the King won’t mind, hard to upstage him. Must’ve hit someone big for generosity like that. Any case, what’ll it be? I’m sure your fellow patrons want to know.”
Saraon follows Sprig into the bar and lets him take the lead. He gives the barwoman a polite bow as Sprig places his order.
With some difficulty, Sprig manages to climb onto a bar stool and look her right in the eye. "One, no, two shots o' Dragonsbreath whiskey!" The kobold watches as his shots are poured with a twinkle in his eye.
Taking a platinum piece in one hand and his shot in the other, Sprig throws back the whiskey and slams the upturned glass onto the counter. Trapped perfectly under the glass was the shining coin.
"As fer the big score, Ah'd be happy t' tell you in private." The lizard says with a cheeky grin.
”Well, I’m sure that one or, given your finances, several of my girls would be happy to listen. I’ve got a bar to run little man”
"That isn't exactly the kind of deal my friend is looking for, Miss...He's a businessman, if you take my meaning, not one to mix business with pleasure," Saraon adds.
Sprig knew as soon as he entered the saloon he'd made a mistake. The Bandit King! He desperately wanted to turn around and leave, but he'd just painted the largest possible target upon himself. Luckily, they'd assumed he was some bigshot bandit leader.
Sprig's mind races as the barkeeper talked. I can't leave, I'd be shot sixteen times before I even reach the door. No, I have to swagger in here as if I was the King himself! Just... what would an arrogant bandit leader fresh off the kill say???
Sprig just hoped they couldn't hear his heart pounding.
The madame purses her lips for a moment before saying, ”Hm, not what I expected. Well, come speak with me tonight. If it’s business you want, there may be something to work out.”
Saraon bows in reply.
"Thank you, ma'am. You are incredibly gracious."
With the important things out of the way Bas smiled his gruesome smile to the madame and jingles a coin purse.
"I'll take the pleasure m'am preferable from a gal who doesnt make too much a fuss over scarring."
He fished a couple of coins from the purse slamming some gold on the countertop.
"And a bottle of Whiskey if you would be so kind."
Sprig shot Saraon a look of surprise and relief. Throwing back his second shot, the whiskey started to effect the kobold, dulling his fear. He turns back to the madame with a pleased smile and lays two more platinum coins on the counter.
"As promised, 'ere is enough coinage for evrryone here tonight. Let 'em drink freely, as an introduction to err... Grimm Snapjaw!"
Sprig motions to Saraon as subtly as he can, looking for one of the quieter corners.
"Ah think we need to do some diggin' around this town. They're gonna be watchin' us, least th' ones who are sober.. Tell Casey t' gather th' others an start lookin' into this Bandit King. Shot might know somethin' an' Ah'll try t' pull somethin' from Bas 'fore he gets too far gone. Ah'm afraid ah'm probably stuck 'ere till the festivities die down, so tell everyone you can that Grimm Snapjaw's payed for free drinks to whoever wants some. Might keep them off yer trail."
After they're finished talking, Sprig makes his way to the card tables, cigar in one hand and gold in the other.
Anyone with knowledge (religion) knows that the Bandit King is the greatest god in the dizzying pantheon of the bandits. Shot can tell the party that as well.
"If anyone knows what's going on with th' Iron Tree, it'd be these guys. The bandit's prolly pass through 'ere on the way."
Saraon follows Sprig and listens.
"I can answer that right here, 'Grimm.' The Bandit King isn't a man, he's the king of their gods. As confident as you are in your abilities, I'd have to agree with the proprietress that it'd be hard for you, or any mortal, to upstage him."
There's a smile in his eyes.
"Still, you are right, to find pests blighting your crop, you have to dig and check the roots. I'll spread the word to the others."
As the party begins, he ushers himself out of the tavern and quickly returns to the caravan to pass on Sprig's plan to Casey and the others.
Sprig watches Saraon leave, making sure he's safely out the door before going to the saloons girls. The lizard spends a while spreading lies about Grimm Snapjaw. He tells several tall tales about the exploits of himself and his gang, knowing they'd be passed around soon enough. Some of them were even based in reality, like their encounter with a crazed cannibal. "-An' then there's the time we encountered this runaway wagon, the owner paid us t' catch it for 'em and we took his money and stole th' wagon too!"
He then hits the poker tables with a gusto, trying to make as big of a splash as possible. Sprig wanted as many people as possible to be watching their game as he could, so he plays riskily. The little lizard's face was an impenetrable wall, never giving away his secrets. His tail, on the other hand...
As Saraon makes his way outside, he sees Casey astride his horse. The man gives Saraon a nod before saying, ”I don’t reckon I can stick around here for much longer. Travelin’ with a posse, well, it ain’t my style. Thanks for havin’ me along for the ride, but this ol’ drifter has to drift. If I catch you all out there in the wastes, let’s swap stories and such.”
With that, Casey spurs his horse and rides off, leaving the chaos of Payday behind.
The gamblers don’t seem entirely convinced by Sprig’s bluster. However, they’ve seen enough aspiring bandits to know that bluster is par for the course. Grimm Snapjaw, it seems, comes off as a pushover.
The bandits play an odd card game, one barely based on cards and more in lies and force of personality. Sprig, however, does well enough and even makes a gold piece once all is said and done.
"May the sky shelter you and the land hold you up, Casey," Saraon replies, wishing him farewell.
He begins asking around for the local news, hoping his clear druidic appearance would deflect any curiosity as to his motives. Just a tree-kneeler wanting to catch up with the civilized folk on what's happened while he was off in the wilds.
"Come on girls, i know im ugly but its good coin."
He complained loudly taking a swig of the whiskey. He was keeping an eye on Sprig though.
Sprig catches Bas watching him and shoots him a wink.
One of the saloon girls, who Bas comes to find is named Shelia, seems taken with the scarred bandit.
”Well, you might not be the best looker, but I’ve met a lot worse than you. Come see me tonight, third room upstairs.”