Rounding the corner, you behold a voluptuous auburn-haired maiden in an elegant yet revealing evening gown and leggings.
She leans over the counter and says silkily, ”I’ll need half-a-dozen smoked glass vials, one inch by four. When do you think they’ll be available?”
The proprietor, a gnome of severe countenance and businesslike demeanor, frowns in concentration. While not oblivious to her beauty, he appears unmoved by it—a consummate businessman.
”Smoked glass of that thickness and of such fine dimensions can’t be rushed. It will take quite some time; a few weeks at least.”
She nods, taking the news in stride. ”Thank you for your honesty, Lacan. I’m quite willing to wait.”
She turns and notices you. As she glances at the party, her red lips break into a dazzling smile.
”More outlanders! Greetings. I am Freya Nornsdottir, fortune-teller, dancer, singer, and sorceress of some small skill. I serve the jarl and his wife as the court soothsayer. What brings you to Oxbane?”
"A need for unusual glasswork," Okoteck replies, giving Freya a little bow. "I am Okoteck Tomu, and this," he gestures at his familiar, "Is Hyggiandi. We are, as you're likely aware, former shipmates with the other outlanders who recently arrived here at Oxbane."
The sorceress tears her eyes away from Syper to reply to the magus. "Indeed. We're the biggest town for a hundred miles in any direction, but not so big that nearly two dozen outlanders from beyond the sea can show up and not be noticed. Rumor is they're trying to build a ship to get them home. If that's true, they've got their work cut out for them."
She flicks her hair over her shoulder. "But if you're not here to cause trouble and pay your own way, the jarl has no reason to be concerned with you. He is a wise and tolerant leader—especially with my guidance!"
She chuckles, waves goodbye to you, thanks the proprietor for his time, and sashays out.
As the sound of the front door clicking shut reverberates from around the corner, the gnome adjusts his spectacles and clears his throat to address the party.
"You mentioned specialty glassware. If that's what you're looking for, you've certainly come to the right place. How can I help you?"
Syper looks over the sorceress as she passes. He thinks a moment, then carefully pats himself down and checks his pockets.
"We need a lens," he answers Lacan. "Our avian companion can go over the specifications for you."
"Your self-control is impressive. Here's hoping we meet again," says a melodic female voice. "I'll take you more seriously next time, I promise."
The gnome take the parchment from Okoteck's claw and unrolls it. Perusing the contents, his eyebrows lift in momentary surprise. "I can certainly do it, but I can't imagine who or what would need this kind of work."
He glances at you. "You lot hunting vampires?"
"A shadow of a man who once was greater, you might say," Okoteck replies. "Quite literally, in that he is a shadow. Weaker than a vampire, fortunately for us."
The diminutive artisan frowns as he labors to parse Okoteck's words, then shrugs. "Adventuring has never been my cup of tea, praise Zanda."
He glances at the paper again. "Making this will only take me about a day of work. At my rates, that'll run you 15 silver. However, while I have most of the materials in stock, volcanic borax is an absolute bastard to find in these parts. There's no telling how long it would take to get it or how much the middlemen's fees will run you."
Jade spies Freya and asks herself why anyone would go to the market in an evening gown, but keeps her comments to herself.
"At my rates, that'll run you 15 silver. However, while I have most of the materials in stock, volcanic borax is an absolute bastard to find in these parts. There's no telling how long it would take to get it or how much the middlemen's fees will run you."[/b]
Jade beams. "We figured that might be a problem, so we brought our own."
You place Irila's bag of coins and Okoteck's bag of borax onto the counter. He opens the drawstring, runs the off-white powder through his fingers and whistles. "This is high-quality stuff. I should have no problem fashioning the lens."
He counts out his fee from the coin purse and nods in satisfaction. "Everything's here." He shakes the parchment at you and taps it for emphasis, adding, "I have an order that'll take the rest of today, but by close of business tomorrow I should have this ready. Come see me then."
As you finish up the transaction, a sussurus snakes in through the crack under the door, condenses into a tiny nebula of mist, and assumes the shape of a familiar face.
"I hope this message finds you well. We are awaiting an after-action report. Meet us at the rest house on Farlonghan Street. Come soon."
Kork looks around the shop for anything interesting, but realises all those jars and vials are just empty. The man is selling glasswork. Not contents. His shoulders sag in disappointment, even if just a little. His attention shifts to the message being delivered. "Subtle." he chuckles at the thing as he grins again.
"Two days to waste. Anything interesting here in town?" he looks at the gnome.
Since Jay'mrow knows little about the crafting of glass nor the magic that apparently will be infused into the ordered lens, Jaym'row waits a few heartbeats after Freya leaves and excuses herself and leaves the shop as well.
She is curious about the woman, who seems to have a similar job to the one Jaym'row practiced before this voyage took her into the realm of an adventurer.
She follows her, trying to keep herself lost in the crowd. She just wants to see how the woman interacts as she moves through the community.
"Our next step should be to rendezvous with the rest of our crew, I think," Okoteck says after Kork speaks. "It may well be that they want our help with something while we're in town."
You then hear the sound of voices slowly approaching and crouch down. One bears the accent of rough country folk, while the other is urbane and slightly uncomfortable, though whether with his surroundings or his company you cannot say.
The footsteps reverse direction and begin fading away. You take a quick look around the tree and get a glimpse of the departing figures: a man in his twenties with a red beard and dressed in fine but practical daywear, and a brown-haired man in rough hunting garb. The man who hailed them seems to be a town guardsman. They walk toward the tower in the center of the keep and disappear into the stony edifice.
"Hmm..." The gnome ponders Kork's query for a moment before replying.
"There's an auction happening just off the market square that starts in about an hour, if I recall. They'll run til the light gets bad, which won't be til near midnight."
"Sell what?" Kork follows up, his interest piqued. He looks around the group to read the room, and confusion suddenly flashes on his face. The goblin raises his left hand and slowly extends his fingers as he points to himself and others in the group with his right hand. His pinky remains curled in his palm. Perturbed by this fact, he looks around again. "Where Creamy?"
Okoteck glances about, then shares a look with Hyggiandi. "It appears she's stepped out," he says, turning back to Kork. "No doubt she'll catch up with us later. Perhaps she'll already be where the rest of the crew is staying?"
He returns his gaze to Lacan and bobs a shallow bow. "Our thanks. We will return tomorrow evening to pick up the completed lens."
"Sneaking around, are we?" says the sorceress, unamused. "Why did you follow me?"
She glances after the two fellows who conversed in the shade of her tree-form and added, "I also think I know something about what those two were talking about and it does not sound like it's anything a free spirit approve of."
"An entertainer, eh? If you're any good, you'll be popular in court. What acts do you have?"
Kork seems conflicted by the suggestion. "Big town. Should maybe reunite first."
"Not so big a town..." Okoteck replies, thinking of some of the cities he's visited, then sighs. "But big enough, I suppose. Do you have any idea how to look for her beyond going out and wandering around, however? At least if we go to a known location we wouldn't miss each other if both parties were searching for the other... and given we've been having this entire conversation in front of the proprietor of this store, if she returns here he'd be able to direct her."
The goblin shrugs. "Kork not fortune-teller. Kork's gram dabble, but not Kork."
"Maybe showcase gunpowder to locals and lure Creamy with big explosion?"
The corners of Jade's mouth quirk as she says, "We'll call that plan B. I vote checking in with the captain and checking out the auction."
"You have stumbled into matters of great import, friend. I can only tell you to not get involved, save with my guidance. Someone in the Redbeard clan is attempting to kidnap a maiden from the Other Place to work some nefarious sorcery. With her or on her, and by whom, I do not know. But the Redbeards have been with the hird for generations, and I am but a courtier of no great house, so I must tread carefully in my search."
She nods her head portentously and adds, "And so should you."
She plucks a twig from her hair and flicks it away, the last remnants of her disguise.
"You might be of use, at a later date. If so, I will seek you out."
Syper shrugs. "I'll keep some feelers out for Jaymie. She'll know where we are."
He pulls out his fiddle. "I believe we're not trying to stay unnoticed for the moment?"
Okoteck waves at himself. "By simply being seen, we are noticed. Avoiding attention seems to be a lost cause. Your playing would certainly let her know where we are, though," he shoots a glance at the glassblower, "Not all polities appreciate street performers, we might wish to know the laws and customs here before you tried."
The proprietor shrugs. "Don't stand in traffic like a fool, or play terribly, and you'll be fine."
"Then a beacon I shall be!" Syper proclaims, as he starts to play for the group. The party has heard Jaym'row play this piece herself before, rousing and definitely not from around here.
"Thank you, kind sir Marquano, 'tis a pleasure doing business with you!" He heads out into the street, letting others lead the way.
Jaym'row wanders along, drawn by the dulcet tones and harmonic stylings of Syper. "Have wa got a deal with the glass maker?"
She looks self-satisfied as only a catfolk female can, smiling and joking with all.
In between jests, she speaks softly, saying, "I have news of some importance. I'll share it when we are alone."
When that time comes, she tells the story of her adventure on the streets.
As Jaym'row approaches, Syper finishes up his song and puts his fiddle away. "Haha, there's the lost kitty!" he calls out as he scoops her up and twirls around before setting her down again.
With a quick surreptitious wink, he adds in a whisper to her, "I won't do that again, don't worry."
After listening to Jaym'row's story, Syper chuckles. "Why she'd think I have any self-control is quite beyond me."
As Jaym'row approaches, Syper finishes up his song and puts his fiddle away. "Haha, there's the lost kitty!" he calls out as he scoops her up and twirls around before setting her down again.
With a quick surreptitious wink, he adds in a whisper to her, "I won't do that again, don't worry."
Jaym'row looks disappointed for a moment. "I'll worry more if you don't do that again," she whispers and winks.
After listening to Jaym'row's story, Syper chuckles. "Why she'd think I have any self-control is quite beyond me."
"Self-control can be overrated."
You hear the murmur of a large crowd just out of view. The sound of a banging gavel cuts through the dull clamor, and a high-pitched voice with a clipped townie accent begins speaking. You make your way around the corner and find yourself at a pavilion assembled in front of the courthouse.
A middle-aged man with pinched features is standing at a podium next to a table festooned with various knickknacks, including an intricately-carved animal skull with large horns, a filigreed silver mirror, a brass bull statuette, a set of elaborately-painted porcelain plates, and an onyx-and-alabaster chess set. A dozen or so well-heeled types of gnomish, dwarven, and Röskarí extraction are gathered near the table, with a loose crowd of onlookers milling about behind them.
Kork listens in on Jaym'row's retelling of the events but gets distracted halfway through by the crowd. "Kork be back soon.", he walks up to take a look at the goods, eyeing some of the items curiously.
He doesn't touch anything, opting to instead take his time to examine the items visually. After a short while, he walks up to the man behind the podium. "Hello!" he greets the man with his raspy voice. "This be auction, or direct purchase possible?"
The auctioneer stares at Kork for a moment before replying, obviously never having seen a normal goblin before and irritated at the interruption but too professional to comment on it. "This auction is for bids only. We'll be starting momentarily."
As you cluster around the table, a well-heeled gnome in finely-tailored daywear turns to his wife and says, "That skull will look great on the mantel in the guest room, don't you think? I wonder what those markings are."
Kork saunters over to the man, acting old and brittle. Well, Kork may be relatively old, but he is not brittle. He walks up to the gnome at a slow pace. He looks him directly in the eye as he grins his teeth in a grimace full of thought.
"Kork see such markings a few weeks ago. Whole Saruqi tribe dead, body on body crimson with blood, all on one pile. Then man fall from sky with crazed look, long teeth, hands and feet cut off and burnt to stumps. Can hear bone clicking against ice when crawling around." He shakes his head like a wet dog and growls at the gnome, clicking his nails against his sword sheath to emphasise the experience. "Bring drawings to ship, ship crew go mad next morning. Kill one another with axe and sword, tooth and nail. Burn ship down."
He shrugs slowly. "Happy someone find skull. Be a pretty piece." and in silence, Kork walks away into the crowd.