Keterlyn's Pa had always warned her about highwaymen and their ilk who plied the roads of the Empire, taking the hard earned coin from those ill-fortuned to encounter them.
But, to find such a one in the City...and an Imperial official! The reality of the situation stunned Keterlyn into inaction, as she stared at the impertinent customs official, her mouth slightly agape.
It was only when the Ogrin emerged from the fetid industrial mist that she was startled out of her reverie. The horrible stories her Nan used to tell her of these brutes made her shiver then when she was a child, and again now.
Instinctively, her hand brushes against the smooth, reassuring haft of her father's axe as Ulrich approaches the buffoon...
At Ulrich's muttering Kreeg sneer turns to a yawn and his eyes grow heavy...
The official submits to the slumber and momentarily dips, only to be caught by Josef with a wink;
"HAR! Yes Herr Kreeg of korse ve haf all papers. Come look. All is vell! Go now my friends. Perhaps ve vill meet again eh!"
The big boat captain shifts towards the tarp, a gently snoring Kreeg propped by his side. On the jetty the hulking Ogers look at each other and shrug, before returning to hoisting the crane over to the Berebeli.
Temenoa blinks once. Solidly. Before turning on her heel and walking quickly away.
I guess the loss of a canoe is better than being caught for entry tax evasion...and the rest... she thinks to herself.
"We may live to regret that - the functionary will wake up and realise that no matter what caused him to sleep, his purse is still light the 4 Crowns he believes he is owed, and that a pair of humans and their dwarf and elf companion are at large..." she whispers generally to her new companions.
Once they have moved off the docks, Temenoa asks the group:
"Whither are ye each bound? I seek a library, or a place of learning that might hold books or treatises of knowledge of Chaos - I must research..."
As you all disembark you find the dock's dark and gloomy, empty save for the handful of hard-faced souls still working. The wooden planks, slick from ashen water spray creak underfoot and the wind picks up, collectively reminding you how cold and damp you are - the chill biting at your very bones.
Ahead, a few lights within city wink at you invitingly - hinting at a degree of comfort the Berebeli could not provide...
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Looking back at the bargemaster, Ulrich nods his thanks and quick gathers up his gear.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I am heading out of here and finding someplace to spend the night lying low...and you are all welcome to join me!"
The fledgling wizard heads away from the docks and into the city, looking for an Inn for the night.
Temenoa glances back, following Ulrich’s eyes. Then she nods, pulls her hood tight over her head and follows.
Temenoa casts her eyes back toward the moored Berebeli where her canoe sits lashed to the side of the larger barge.
On deck Gilda catches her look, and nods, patting the elegant elven craft as if to let her know it will be looked after.
The ashen mixed rain begins to fall with more intensity and you move from the docks into the nearby region of Shantytown...
As you move through the dock facing streets, various sodden denizens watch or avoid you - beggars, drunken dockers, scarecrow urchins and the like.
Your collective gaze falls upon the lights of the first inn you've noted - a rickety establishment named Barrel of Laughs; its battered sign depicting a Nuln cannon blasting forth a laughing goblin. Upon its threshold a burly man stands with coat, studded club and wide brimmed hat.
He chuckles gruffly as you approach;
"Huh. Newcomers."
It comes across as neither a question nor a challenge, just a blunt statement of fact.
"We may live to regret that - the functionary will wake up and realise that no matter what caused him to sleep, his purse is still light the 4 Crowns he believes he is owed, and that a pair of humans and their dwarf and elf companion are at large..." she whispers generally to her new companions.
"Meh. I regret I did not take his purse" - Tark grunted.
Looking back at the bargemaster, Ulrich nods his thanks and quick gathers up his gear.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I am heading out of here and finding someplace to spend the night lying low...and you are all welcome to join me!"
The fledgling wizard heads away from the docks and into the city, looking for an Inn for the night.
"If you mean lying low AND having a drink, I'm your dwarf!"
Your collective gaze falls upon the lights of the first inn you've noted - a rickety establishment named Barrel of Laughs; its battered sign depicting a Nuln cannon blasting forth a laughing goblin. Upon its threshold a burly man stands with coat, studded club and wide brimmed hat.
He chuckles gruffly as you approach;
"Huh. Newcomers."
It comes across as neither a question nor a challenge, just a blunt statement of fact.
"Perceptive fellow I see" - Tark chuckled back - "What gave us away?" - he added with a shrug - "We're looking for a place to grab a drink and spend the night. Is this the place we are looking for?" - the dwarf asked the man.
Ulrich looks at the man and the decrepit building he stands before.
"Perhaps we should move further from the dock into the city proper. We might find, um, more suitable lodgings there."
The doorkeeper taps his hat brim, sending a drift of ash downward;
"Some o' you lot ain't got hats. Locals wear hats... On account of the ash see."
At Tark's comment the man smiles, showing a mouth full of wooden teeth.
"Could be, lessen your mate there wants to stretch his legs. We got good rates 'ere... Honest ones... Got some rules tho'...
He taps a torn missive pinned to the wall with his cudgel, pressing it into place. In bold Old Worlder it reads:
NO WASTERS
NO ANIMALS
NO ELVISH
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Hood still drawn over her head, Temenoa sees no good reason to remove it, given the poster.
"Aye, let us move farther into the city - less wooden teeth, more suitable lodgings..." Temenoa whispers to Ulrich.
Ulrich nods in agreement.
"I think another establishment might be in order. Good evening to you sir."
He will continue up the street into the city, but will also keep a lookout for a haberdashery.
The doorman shrugs at your apparent disdain of the establishment, then his eyes narrow at someone beyond your group and he sneers;
”’Ere we go. Wondered how long it’d be ‘fore some Waster would come sniffin’ round.”
From the shadows of the wharf-front steps a raggedy man, whose clothes once perhaps, suggested finery. A rapier sits at his hip and his long fingers are bedecked in rings.
He approaches and smiles, one tooth glinting copper;
”Ignore thisch pig my friendsch. He hasch the mannersch of an ork, but lacksch its brainsch.”
The man bows theatrically, and doffs his battered hat;
”Grolsch Van Eyke at your schervice. Now true, our thick headed friend there isch correct. I am a proud Waschtlander… but contrary to popular schlander we are not all thievesch. I like to think of myschelf as a faschilitator. You want schomthing, I get you it for you…”
He shakes ash from his lank hair and dons his hat before enthusiastically offering you Nuln’s delights;
”Scho, what isch it you are lookink for? Gamblink? Warm company? Drugsch? I know densch that cater for Black Lotusch , even Norschan Schrooms! Bescht prisch in Nuln!”
Grolsch looks at your collective weariness and offers a resigned grin and a wink;
”Perhapsch all in good time? Maybe a bed for the night, then on the morrow you can let me schow you all Nuln in itsch finery!”
Temenoa peers at Van Eyke from under her hood.
"Why under every star would we entertain a compact with you? We are as we are, and look for little but our own safety."
Tark crosses his arms over his chest, and taps his foot impatiently - "So you are just offering to find us a place tosay out of the kindness of your heart, is that it?" - he adds to Temenoa's words with a raised eyebrow.
Keterlyn nodded in appreciation as Ulrich was successful in enchanting the buffoonish customs man, her Nan had claimed to be able to do such things when she was younger, and more devoted to the Green Faith.
Glad to be done with that , she again said her goodbyes to the crew of the barge and followed the others into the city.
She was able to start an argument with the doorkeeper of the Barrel of Laughs but the other's sensible comments forestalled her wrath.
When the Waster accosted them, Keterlyn's head began to ache, trying to decipher the man's unintelligible accent. Scowling, she says, "More like, you'll lead us into an ambush by some friends of yours!"
Grolsch mocks indignity at the distrust and disdain shown to him, then chuckles;
"Haha. I see you I have misjudged you... and you have all made the measure of me. Not the usual bumpkins fresh off the barge..."
His accent is no longer thick Wastelander, but a trace still peppers his speech;
"Listen I know this sity... both its good and illisit. And while, yes I procure goods and servises for questionable tastes, I know where to go and where not to. For a mere shilver schilling each I will deliver you to an inn and help you avoid any ambushes..."
Temenoa looks askance at the man, but her mind turns the offer over.
”I see you are to be taken at face value. Not to be trusted, nor relied upon. But still perhaps… useful. However I see no particular reason to part with silver each, when we can rely on each other.”
Temenoa produces one silver piece.
”A compact of short duration. You recommend a safe and well-suited inn. If it transpires that such is suitable, then on the morrow, I may have further need of your…intelligence.”
"Lets see what you got then" - Tark produces a silver also.
Temenoa frowns and pushes Tark’s hand back.
”One silver only good Tark. If this purchase bears fruit, more might be forthcoming.”
As the prospect of a bonus silver is quashed by Temenoa, drawing a sigh and look of indignation from Grolsch.
"Fine. A single, paltry schilling it is. I know a place nearby... Follow me and don't dally!"
The bawd takes the coin bids you all follow and moves off at pace through the streets. He pauses occasionally when loitering groups are spotted through the gloom, ducking and leading you through alleyways and arches.
After roaming the streets for an hour or more Grosch pauses at a dingy lane and flashes his brass tooth smile;
"Eh Voila - De Terugkeer van de Reaver! Our journey's end for today... I am known to the innkeeper, Rudolph Grasser... his place does not look like much, but it is safe an' warm. So I bid you all a good nacht and shall return on the morrow yes?"
In the distance you see a grubby building with a tattered sign swinging in the wind that bears faded black writing on it: The Reaver's Return.
Temenoa's face dons a customary frown.
"Well, he may have led us past various cutthroats and ne'erdowells, but now we are well and truly lost and deeper into the maze of this labyrinth."
Temenoa grimaces further at the building. " The place looks....unprepossessing, but it may be... as he says. And if his desire is to earn more coin, then perhaps it is....safe."
The elfmaid huffs.
"What think you all? Either it is safe, or my one "schilling" was an insult and this... is a trap."
"Well it is either here or we continue walking the streets...at night! Let's check it out and see what it is like."
Ulrich walks into the building with a wary eye.
With a last glance at the unfamiliar surrounding, Temenoa nods, and follows Ulrich in.
Keterlyn, from where she'd been leaning against a nearby building, yawns widely, rubbing her eyes, "Anywhere will do...this city..."
She levers herself up and follows...
"Agreed - let us check it out" - Tark huffs - "If it is a double-cross, then we make whomever they are regret it"
"Eh Voila - De Terugkeer van de Reaver! Our journey's end for today... I am known to the innkeeper, Rudolph Grasser... his place does not look like much, but it is safe an' warm. So I bid you all a good nacht and shall return on the morrow yes?"
"Sure, come back in the morrow - if the place is fine, you might get just get an easy second shilling. Otherwise... We'll have words" - the dwarf nodded with a wink.
Grosch slinks off into the shadows while the rest of you approach the inn. There seems little sound from within the Reaver's Return, however a weak light shows through the ash grimed window if the ground floor.
Undeterred Ulrich presses on… only to find the door stuck fast and unyielding.
From inside a voice shouts;
”SHOVE IT!”
There is a short pause as you all look at other, then the voice calls again;
’Sigmar’s ‘Ammer! The bleedin’ door… give it a shove!”
Temenoa puts her shoulder to the door and manages to force it open.
Tark nods appreciatively at Temenoa's display of Strength - "Nicely done"
"Well let's see what kind of accommodation this person has sent us to!"
Ulrich follows the others into the Inn.
Keterlyn watches Temenoa shoulder the door open through eyes slitted with sleepiness.
They open a bit wider as the elf-maiden successfully bullies the recalcitrant door to open, stumbling after her, "That was well...shoved.", hoping that there was something inside horizontal that wasn't the floor to sleep on.
The battered inn door lurches open with such force as to leave it hanging askew on rusted hinges!
Inside, various patrons peer through pipe smoke and gloom at the dramatic entrance of the newcomers;
Behind the bar the white-haired, wrinkled, old innkeeper stares down the party with a hard frown;
“You’ll have to pay for that, you know...”, quickly adding, "... 6 whole Shillings that cost me it did!”
His words draw a mix of agreeable mutterings to drunken smirks from the clientele.
Stepping past the others, Ulrich smiles at the Innkeeper.
"How many times have you tried that line, my good man! Perhaps you should get it fixed to allow guests to enter...unless you are not looking for several new visitors paying for rooms and food?! Maybe we have come to the wrong Inn after all!"
Fellowship(29):
Temenoa stands defiant, glaring at the proprietor.
”It was your imprecation to give it more than a soft touch that led to the door’s demise. If it worked properly, as it might had you spent coin earlier seeing to it’s maintenance, you wouldn’t be raking me for more.”
"Man asks for a shove, then complains the shove was too strong..." - Tark shook his head.
The reed thin innkeep suddenly brightens at the mention of room and board...
He smiles, revealing a couple of lonely teeth;
"Pay ye say? Room an' board ye say... Of course Masters and Mistresses..."
The man pauses, suddenly belligerent at one of the soaks slumped over table and grog;
"Manfred! Get yer arse o'er to that bloody door! Ye know the rules... free rum if ye keeps the cold out!"
In response the drunk lurches to the broken door and slumps in front of the portal, like a stinky human draft block...
Stepping out from the bar, the lanky man runs a hand across his thin, greasy hair;
"Welcome t' the Rievers Return. I am the proprietor... Rudoph Grasser. Now what can I do fir ye all? Single rooms... communal... shared rooms per'haps?"
He winks at the last suggestion.
"I think we would like to start with some drinks - I feel like my throat is filled with smog and grime" - Tark grunted - "Find us a table?" . he nodded at the innkeep.
"Food as well...might as well fill our stomachs before we bed down as well. I would like a separate room, if possible."
He takes out his money purse and jingles it as he reaches in to remove a few coins.
Grasser grins at the dwarf;
"Heh. Nuln is smog an' grime lad. It's them cannons see... Forgeworks too. Drinks... yes indeed... and some food too... Of course, of course!"
He smiles as his eyes affix upon Ulrich's purse;
"Coins aplenty in there eh Master.. A single room it is! Hoping it ain't all shrapnel!"
The innkeeper exits momentarily to shout into the kitchen, causing a commotion of pots and clanging.
Grasser returns and smiles weakly as he pours some ales;
"Ales all round? Or would the Gentlefolk prefer wine or spirits?"
Temenoa nods.
”Wine, Meister Grasser. A red…considering.”
The elf looks around the room.