The weather is downright cold as you prepare to head out. The wind goes right through your armor and winter clothing ( the effect is called incorporeal wind, you'll need some kind of force spell to block its effect, normally...) and leaves you feeling frigid. You consider whether or not to stay another day when Maulf come up to you, a scroll in hand.
"I keep a few of these around for people, especially adventurers, when the air turns bad like this. Here." Maulf hands over the scroll to Ruul and says, "It kinda like armor, except that the spell will only protect you from the bad winds, especially when it gets cold like this. It's that Worldwound that does it, I tell you." Waving his arm in a gesture of dismissal, he continues. "Anyway, that should last your party through the day if you don't stay up too late, and it'a a one-use spell. That being said, if you stand close enough together, your wizard should be able to cast it with no problems." Maulf begins shaking everyone's hand and wishing you all luck in your journey.
Azaraunt, make a Spellcraft check to read what the scroll does. You need an 18 or higher to read it completely.
With the maps that the clanliege gave you yesterday ( Linked in the Campaign Info tab), you feel mostly prepared for the journey. The only thing that bothers you is the bit about the area known as the "Chaos Rift." You remember the clanliege remarking that, while such a place exists, no one has been able to bring back a map of the area. He said to you all, "I've heard rumors about the place, but since I don't know how accurate any of them are, I won't repeat them here."
The horses have all been setup and fed, and you see Dwili, Maulf, and a couple of others bring them out before Maulf came up to you. At this point, it is time to make your destiny upon the land.
"I'd give anything to see that dragon dead for all the things he did to my friends. But these days, my knees go watery just at the sound of his name. If I never go back up there, it will be too soon for my tastes."
"If that creature stands between us and Tsar, I promise you it will fall", the minotaur rumbles with authority. "And it will be at least in part thanks to the information you've shared with us."
I feel like we've been in Gundren forever...
"I'm glad to hear it. I hope you succeed where others have not." With that, Maulf stands up from his chair, nods to everyone, and then announces that he is going to get some rest. "You should too, there are many dangers out there and they will not wait for someone to yawn in the middle of combat."
Sorry about this, I really didn't think this would go on for so long. If everyone is okay, I'd like to fast-forward a bit, past the gathering of maps from the clanliege, and set everyone on the road to the Camp between now and Friday. Everyone cool with that?
"It wasn't even close. That dragon can be scary fast. But the thing is that it doesn't use magic, or at least none that I could see. It might have some magic items on it though, I was never sure. We thought that our weapons would be enough in melee, and we had two wizards for throwing spells and a priest to heal us. But it wasn't enough, not even close." Maulf pauses for a moment, and starts again, measuring each word as if from a thimble.
"It was the bile that did it. A dragon can throw fire, or cold, or even acid. But it can only do so once, maybe twice a minute. Malerix just keeps throwing up. It is almost constant, how often he do that." Maulf makes a slight gurgling sound when thinking about this. "It's worse than acid, as it burns, but if it hits you full on, which is easy to do, then you get mired in it. You start to choke, there's no air to breathe, and your skin (even if fully clothed) feels like it's on fire. You can only hope and pray that you get out of the stuff before you die. I was hit twice with that stuff. The first time, I almost got out of the way, but it got stuck to my boot. I was hit fully almost immediately from his next attack. By then, over half of our party was so entombed." Maulf sniffs noisily and then drinks the rest of his beer.
"Only two of us crawled away from that, myself and our wizard, Karom. The rest died on their feet from suffocation, so far as we know. We couldn't save them, hell, we could only get one person out of that muck, and he had been dead for several minutes. Malerix had apparently decided that we were no threat and actually took off in flight. Not that it mattered, we couldn't have fought if we wanted to, we were so exhausted from just pulling on that slime. We dragged our friend back to that outpost, where Karom tried to revive him, but his magics weren't strong enough. By the time we got back to the Camp, another three days had passed. At that time, there were no powerful healers that could revive our friend. We buried him properly, and then set to our own wounds. I was near death's door myself by then. I had taken many burns from the slime and my flesh was so raw and burned it was almost black. It took almost six months to heal, and I still have some scars from it. Karom himself died a few days after coming back, apparently some wounds are worse than others." Pausing one more time, Maulf continues, this time with a wintry smile.
"By then, Dwili had come up and began taking care of me. We decided that I wasn't fit for travel, but I sure as hell didn't want to spend my days in the Camp. So I compromised, and moved down here. I sold most of my gear, as well as Karom's, to some others looking for equipment up there. It was more than enough to start this place. And that's where I've been every since." Maulf gives you a piercing stare. "I'd give anything to see that dragon dead for all the things he did to my friends. But these days, my knees go watery just at the sound of his name. If I never go back up there, it will be too soon for my tastes."
"Well I wouldn't go so far as to say that. 'Grit storms,' that's my name for them, are a pretty common occurrence. We had to deal with a couple of those. I call it grit because, while it acts like a sandstorm in most ways, instead of sand, it's the bits of bone that actually fall off the decaying bodies strewn all over the Desolation. Those are the worst as they can kill you if you're not careful.
"Beyond that, we had a few run-ins with various creatures, some undead, but most not. We had had our fill of it by then, and we wanted the big prize so we could get the hell out of this place. It took us over a day just to reach the Crossroads, and another day to reach the outpost. The outpost took us a couple of days to clear out, and then from there it was just dealing with the dragon. 'Easy peasy,' one guy said. He was the first to go."
Maulf chews on a bit of pork fat from his stew while he lets all of that sink in.
Ruul's brow furrows.
"How did you protect yourselves from these Grit storms?" the bull minotaur asks. "Did it take magic or was mundane protection enough?"
"No, the grit and sand storms you can prepare for if you know what to look for. There is usually some kind of warning that a storm is coming. You just dig out a good spot somewhere and ride out the storm. They can last for a little while, but rarely more than an hour in the worst cases." Finishing the last of his stew, Maulf turns to look at you and Lavinia and says, "Besides all that, you want to hear how I got my butt whooped by Malerix, don't you?"
Ruul gives the priestess in his grasp a knowing glance before returning his attention to the dwarf.
"We are well prepared for the unquiet dead but it is good to know."
"Please. Continue your story. You encountered no other trouble on the way to Tsar?"
"Well I wouldn't go so far as to say that. 'Grit storms,' that's my name for them, are a pretty common occurrence. We had to deal with a couple of those. I call it grit because, while it acts like a sandstorm in most ways, instead of sand, it's the bits of bone that actually fall off the decaying bodies strewn all over the Desolation. Those are the worst as they can kill you if you're not careful.
"Beyond that, we had a few run-ins with various creatures, some undead, but most not. We had had our fill of it by then, and we wanted the big prize so we could get the hell out of this place. It took us over a day just to reach the Crossroads, and another day to reach the outpost. The outpost took us a couple of days to clear out, and then from there it was just dealing with the dragon. 'Easy peasy,' one guy said. He was the first to go."
Maulf chews on a bit of pork fat from his stew while he lets all of that sink in.
Ruul finds his hand drifting over top Lavinia's as the story goes in.
"Ghost caravan? As in a caravan full of restless spirits?"
"Yea I'm afraid so. It's been around forever and travels only the main roads. As long as you don't interfere with its passing, you'll be fine. They don't typically interact with us." Pausing for breath, Maulf forges on. "Some say that it's some kind of real caravan, moving things back and forth like anything else, but in another plane or something. It's beyond my post to know about this stuff."
Maulf takes a couple more bites of the stew before he continues.
Maulf's Story...at least the first part:
"Bear in mind that what happened to me happened the better part of ten years ago now. I had been up there for about four months or so, and I had become a part of another group of mercs. We sort of banded together for mutual support. We had seen how the Desolation can swallow individuals whole without even a thought. The rest of the group had come back from the Chaos Rift part, which is at least two days, probably more, to the northwest of the Camp. I was in the Camp myself, healing up from a bad case of vergouille venom. Almost lost my head on that one," Maulf laughs uproariously over his self-inflicted joke.
After calming down, he continues. "So anyway, they had come back in. There were maybe eight all told, including myself, in the group. Sitting around the campfire that night, someone got the idea that there was nothing left in the Desolation worth grabbing for. After we had a good laugh, the guy goes, 'No. I think it's time we go where the real treasure is, in Tsar.' Well, that shut everyone up real quick. Tsar is assuredly rich in treasure, but anyone who has been in the Camp more than a week will have heard about Malerix by then. And of course, somebody mentioned him. And naturally, we, being the red-blooded adventurers that we were, spent the better part of an hour talking about how we were going to kick the dragon's arse all over the Desolation. There might have been some rum involved in this conversation.
"I thought it was all talk until the next morning, when about half the group began packing for Tsar! By this time, no one had wanted to say anything against it, it would have looked bad. So by about noon, we were off towards the front gate of Tsar. We took the main road north to the Crossroads; the ghost caravan had passed the night before so were safe. The caravan back then only passed through once a week or so, although I understand it passes by much more often now. We then made a turn towards the west and followed the road to Tsar. We followed the roads because we didn't want to go through the swamps, despite its more direct path."
Maulf takes a pull of his small beer and eats a little more.
Returning from his survey outdoors, Calendir steps into the inn as Maulf begins spinning his tale - "Apologies for interrupting Master Dwarf..."
Turning to the assembled group he adds - "No chance to track the gargoyles back, neither through track nor scent - unless Numair manages to obtain some information from that one back there, we will find no leads to backtrack them to their origin, at least in our immediate surroundings..."
Pulling up a chair he sits down besides his companions, taking a look over the food on the table, and a serving from the ale - not wanting to interrupt any further he simply takes one of the plates from the table and sets it down next to Lagash. At the big cat's grumble he simply answers "I know, I know... Its what we have for the time being my brother." Without another sound, the feline starts digging into the food.
"Again my apologies Maulf, please do continue."
Maulf looks over at Lagash as he reluctantly eats the stew. "Your tiger should be so lucky to enjoy my stew." Maluf looks at you for a second, daring you to say something, then breaks out in a grin. Laughing, Maulf says "It's okay, we have a haunch of pork with some bone marrow that he can gnaw on." He leans over and, with no fear at all, scratches Lagash behind his right ear. After a few seconds of this, he yells for Dwili to fetch some pork for the beast.
He then turns back to you and says, "Don't worry, ranger, you haven't missed anything yet."
Yes, we'd love to hear the whole story. There's no telling what may be important to know. Also, do you happen to have any maps of the region that we could perhaps make copies of?"
Lavinia takes a seat besides Ruul and settles down to listen to the story.
Diplomacy 1d20+13
"Thank you, my dear. I am afraid that I've lost all of my maps over the years, mostly through people who thought that they needed them more than I did. I understand that the clanliege has many maps that might come in handy for you, depending on where you end up."
"I'm afraid it's third-hand information. It was heard around town."
"I'm not surprised. It's not exactly a secret that I started my time here as a mercenary. I was like a lot of people who come up here; I'll go to the Camp, find some treasures or at least some stuff that I could sell back in Nerosyan or perhaps Magnimar. Retire with a sack of gold and some trophies to match. Pretty much the dwarven dream. Four months later, I'm back here, and Dwili is practically running on water to get up here and nurse me back to help. Do you want to hear of my various expeditions up there, or should I just skip to the good part?"
Ruul shoves a hearty spoonful of the stew into his bovine maw before waves to the innkeeper.
"We did have some questions", the bull says with a glance at Lavinia and Elen.
"We've heard rumors that you've seen the gates of Tsar firsthand. We could use all the information we can get about that place. What do you remember?"
Sighing softly, Maulf sits down, but not before he asks Dwili to bring him some stew and a small beer. After a few minutes, the bowl sits before him, with a set of actual silverware and a frosted mug of the local 'water.' Taking a spoonful of ham and potatoes, he turns slightly in his seat to look at you.
"At some point, anyone passing through to the Camp wants to hear my story. Mind if I ask who sent you over, or did you just figure it out by yourself?"
When you arrive back at the tavern, you can see that many of the people who were there earlier are now going home. The stress of a dragon attack is enough to make everyone want to be somewhere else. Maulf and his daughter are cleaning up the last of the messes left when the siren was called. He looks over at you as you walk into the main room and says, "It's good to see that you're still in one piece. I still can't believe that you went out there running after that scourge. Have a seat, and I'll have my daughter, Dwili, fetch you some stew to eat. Small beers as well? Or do you want the real stuff instead?"
Ruul nods.
"You would be surprised what sorts of foolish things a Pathfinder will run after", he answers. "Drink would be good and something to eat. A fight like that always leaves me hungry."
"The gargoyles never reached this place?"
"There were gargoyles about? If there were, none made it here at all."
Soon, there are plates and bowls all over the table filled with food. "I'll leave you too it then. Let me know if you have anything to ask." The phrasing of the sentence leaves little doubt that the conversation is not yet over.
When you arrive back at the tavern, you can see that many of the people who were there earlier are now going home. The stress of a dragon attack is enough to make everyone want to be somewhere else. Maulf and his daughter are cleaning up the last of the messes left when the siren was called. He looks over at you as you walk into the main room and says, "It's good to see that you're still in one piece. I still can't believe that you went out there running after that scourge. Have a seat, and I'll have my daughter, Dwili, fetch you some stew to eat. Small beers as well? Or do you want the real stuff instead?"
Ruul tries to keep the farmers from trampling each other as they rush to the Dragon's cellar.
"Who is Malerix?" the bull shouts over the growing din.
Maulf can barely hear you over the din. The 'bard,' completely oblivious as to what is going on, is till wailing on his stringed instrument. Maulf puts his hands to his mouth and shouts, "It's the dragon!
Ruul picks up his quarterstaff in one hand and offers the other to help Lavinia up.
What are Maulf, his daughter, and any other locals inside the Dragon doing?
At first, Maulf hears nothing. Him and his daughter, Molly are tending to the patrons, most of whom are farmers in the village, drinking small beer and listening to the 'bard' play his tunes. At least, the gentleman calls himself a 'bard.' You're not sure what he is in real life, but a 'bard' he is not. There are about 20 or so people in the inn, including yourselves. You hear the bell first, primarily because you are close to the door when it goes off. You happen to look over at Maulf as he is sitting some tankards down a table, when you see him turn, as if listening.
You then see his face go visibly pale. He screams at the top of his lungs for everybody to shut up. Within seconds it is dead still in the room. Everyone can hear the bell now and the look on everyone's face is stunned silence. Before anyone can do or say anything, Maulf screams out "Everyone into the cellar! It's Malerix!
Calendir will attempt to preserve their catches as best as possible. He will keep the best piece to enjoy fresh with his traveling companions back at the inn, during their last dinner in town, kindly requesting, and paying as needed, that the meal be cooked by the inn's cook, if possible.
The management passes along his compliments and states that payment is not necessary for just cooking, as long you are bringing your kill. He offers his cask of salt if needed, as well as a room off of the kitchen to make your preparations. You may also have use of the smokehouse if you wish. If you would be so kind to roll a Survival check, DC20, to preserve the meat, we can move forward (no bonuses for terrain on this one), if you had Profession(cook), we would have used that roll instead.
Maulf, I believe it was, yes? I am Azaraunt, and I would like to present you with another chance to make some coin. As you have been told, we intend to travel to the Camp and see what we can learn about a number of mysteries there. We are not sure how long we might end up staying there and we have been warned that it might not be best to rely on the locals for all of our needs in the camp. Our group would like to have an agent, if you will, here in your town, to help supply us with the items we need. If these two brothers are already making regular trips to and from the camp I wonder if we could arrange with you to send us supplies through them on some regular basis? And if they are unwilling, I suspect we can work some other arrangement out. We would not be selling anything there at the camp; only looking to make sure we have what we need to support ourselves.
Maulf looks you over for a moment before replying. You get the sense that Maulf is one to typically choose his words with care before speaking. "Well, let me start by asking, ho long do you plan to be there? That is, roughly. Is this a treasure hunt or an actual expedition. You don't seem to be a merchant caravan so you're obviously not trying to establish a trade route. Which will it be then?"
A good question master dwarf. We plan to be at the camp long enough to need resupply, even though we carry a considerable amount of supply with us. While we do not hunt treasure as an end, we will not be turning it down as we run across it. We go to, well, to tie up loose ends. And some of these ends have been loose for way too long. I expect we shall be there for more than a month and perhaps a season. Would you be interested in helping us with the supplies we will need while there?
"Well I can see that, potentially, your group is going to be doing quite a bit up there, and for the long haul it would seem. I have no problems with being your agent in the manner that you are asking. I charge my clients, of which I have several, both here and up at the Camp, a flat 100gp per month fee for services rendered, plus the additional coin required to make the purchases. In return, I ensure that prices for any items that you request (within reason of course) are at better than fair prices and that you will get those items in a reasonable amount of time. Is that fair?"
"Good to know. That means Lagash shouldn't have any trouble fending for himself", Ruul says with a glance at the orc.
"Aren't gargoyles... intelligent?"
"Well yea. But so are dragons, and you can't tell me that you haven't met someone in your adventures that would love to dine on a dragon rib one night for supper. Big as some of those creatures are, one rib would be all it would take I would imagine, even for someone of your appetite." Maulf laughs at this bit of wit. "Of course, you'd have to cook it just right. Dragon meat ends up either too chewy and rare for most stomachs if undercooked, or else too tough to eat if done over. May was well use it as hide armor at that point. Not even a bastard blade will go through burnt dragon meat."
"Hmmm, how about 100 even plus the spices?" asks Ally, doing her best to bargain shrewdly.
Taking 10 on Diplomacy: 10+11=21
"Oh, I suppose. It's not every day that I barter with a naked woman." Maulf smiles brightly as his daughter Molly brings out tankards of mead, ale, and small beers all around, along with several wooden bowls of pork stew with root veggies, and finally, a whole side of pork ribs.
"You're in luck my fine, muscular friend. We had a boar hunt last week and found a good couple of hundred pounds of pork, plus the ribs on a couple of boars that were kind enough to volunteer their hides to us. It was a good thing too. We were almost down to just the pork sausages that we smoked last fall. I'm afraid we haven't had cherry grog in a couple of months though."
Maulf, I believe it was, yes? I am Azaraunt, and I would like to present you with another chance to make some coin. As you have been told, we intend to travel to the Camp and see what we can learn about a number of mysteries there. We are not sure how long we might end up staying there and we have been warned that it might not be best to rely on the locals for all of our needs in the camp. Our group would like to have an agent, if you will, here in your town, to help supply us with the items we need. If these two brothers are already making regular trips to and from the camp I wonder if we could arrange with you to send us supplies through them on some regular basis? And if they are unwilling, I suspect we can work some other arrangement out. We would not be selling anything there at the camp; only looking to make sure we have what we need to support ourselves.
Maulf looks you over for a moment before replying. You get the sense that Maulf is one to typically choose his words with care before speaking. "Well, let me start by asking, ho long do you plan to be there? That is, roughly. Is this a treasure hunt or an actual expedition. You don't seem to be a merchant caravan so you're obviously not trying to establish a trade route. Which will it be then?"
"Kallistiel is a noble lady and will request a room to herself, and I believe Elen did mention that in her original accounting of rooms. However, only one room for men is needed, which brings the total to 4."
"Well, if it will be for four rooms for the week, then I'll need to raise the price back up to 110 for the week, plus the spices. I had assumed for 3 rooms, not 4, as they are communal beds."
Immediately after her previous question, she realizes the counter-offer and adds, "Or perhaps 80 and those spices?"
"Well...I don't know." Maulf seems to ponder your counter-offer for a moment before saying. "Oh, I suppose that will work." He puts a smile on his face before continuing. "So the minotaur and the pale lady will take one room. I assume that you and the other two ladies will take one room, and the men take another"
Ally suggests to the innkeeper 70 gold pieces along with a number of spices he has expressed interest in. She doesn't say it out loud, but the amounts of spices she suggests in trade are worth about 30 gold.
"You still haven't told me how long you and your friends plan to stay here. I can't give you a good number if I don't know that, unless of course you want to pay 110 a night."
I will take whatever you have that is most freshly gathered my good Master dwarf - and please, make sure it IS as fresh as possible. If you have none, just be upfront and I'll simply have a mead - Calendir comments to the dwarf with a smile, as he sits himself down on a table, Lagash resting his head on the half-orc's lap.
"Ah, a man after my own heart. Just hold the pig over the fire long enough to make him squeal, and then serve him up with an apple and a smile. It'll be a few minutes, we usually don't start getting the locals in here for a couple more hours, what with tilling and farming and such. Anyone else want anything while I'm back in the kitchen?
Indeed we are, my good dwarf. How is the day finding you?
Numair will make himself comfortable in the common room of the inn, mindful of the fact that Digory is still recovering and has to follow him. " Do you serve kaffe in this fine establishment," he asks Maulf as he settles in.
He waits for Ruul to return from bathing and listens to what news Elen has been gathering. He is especially interested in news about the caravan, as rescuing them was one of his priorities upon arriving at the wasteland. Did you get the name of the caravan masters, or anyone that seemed to be in charge?
"Oh, Lords, yes. The finest available. I usually get my kaffe from Nex. But if that doesn't suit you, then we have some local stuff from Nerosyan that just came in. He turns his head to look back over his shoulder. "Molly! Get a carafe of the Nexian out here, lickety split." Turning back to you, he says, "It's my daughter. Bright lass that she is, I think that she might still be shy with the minotaur coming back in and all." He points over your shoulder as you notice Lavinia and Ruul coming into the inn.
Right now, game time is about 1ish for those keeping track. The clouds have gotten thicker, and sleet threatens.
You thank the guards for their hospitality (and the pie :(p )and start to head back to the village center, where the Tarry Dragon is. Walking inside, you see a dwarf and Ally sitting a table, the dwarf looking at some of the trade spices that you brought as part of the caravan. Noticing you, he stands up, pardoning himself from the little fey-like creature, and walks over to you.
"Can I help you gentlemen, lady?" Reconsidering the situation, he states, "Are you part of the group of people off the boat, by chance?"
"Well we are heading up into the Desolation, and exploration and secret-finding is our stock in trade. You've seen the wayfinders -- it's no secret we're Pathfinders. I can't really tell you the exact location we're heading to -- not that I don't think you're trustworthy, but walls have ears you know! But knowledge is what we seek and if we find some way to keep Gundrun safer you can be sure we'll make sure it's done.
"From what you say, it sounds like what the Clanliege does depends on his moods? I'm rather that way myself. Well, if it's not certain how long it will take to complete our business, let's suppose we'll be here for at least 2 days and possibly up to a week. Would make a difference in the price you'd charge I suppose?"
"Yea. Clefthorn means well, but this place..." Maulf runs a hand through his hair in frustration before going on. "I've been up there before, thinking like you, although I don't belong to some fancy club, no offense. I figured I would find some wonderful artifact or something and retire forever. I found a few adventures, and I took an arrow in the elbow of my sword arm from a vampire of all things, and that was that.
"This place has an effect on people. It's like...it's like death hangs around every turn almost. Clefthorn came here, almost 40 years ago now, thinking that he could take back some of his old lands, just like back in the days of the old empire. I had just set up the inn here when he came. At that time, it was mostly the children of the original refugees that ran when that canyon opened up. Clefthorn thought like he was all thunder and lightning and that he could just march up there with some kind of army and just send those things back to where they came from. After he settled into the castle up there, he did just that. He came back about 3 months later. Him and 4 others, that was it. A week later, a bunch of those devils came down from the wound. We were able to hold them off, but it was a near thing. Some Crusaders from Mendev happened by from the east, they were probably that only things that saved this village.
"Clefthorn was broken at that point. He'll come out and risk his life to defend the last person in this town if he has to. But the 'clanliege' has sat in his castle for most of these 40 years. He must be getting close to 70 by now, which is ancient by human standards. But he still has his vigor, Lords know how. When he dies, there are no heirs to take his throne. Gundrun will probably go back to being just a plain old, dying village.
"As to your question, little miss, staying here a week means I'll charge a little less as opposed to staying just one night. I would say either 24 gold per night or 130 for the whole week. That'll cover room and board either way."
"If you don't mind me asking," Maulf says to the wee little lady, "What reason do you have for going up into that gods-forsaken place, such as Tsar? I ask because, if you're heading to the Camp, then my guess is that you're trying your luck in the Desolation, or even that damned city itself."
"Well, we have business to do in this town, and it depends on how quickly we complete it. Shouldn't be more than a few days unless the Clanliege requires repeated meetings or delays us for some reason." Ally taps her foot on the table thoughtfully, then looks up at the dwarf. "What sort of man is this Clanliege? Is he likely to keep us waiting or insist on protracted ceremony? Innkeepers always have their fingers on the pulse of the community, in my experience... what can you tell us?"
[dice=Diplomacy to gather information]1d20+11
"In all likelihood, little miss, the clanliege would just as much drag this out for days until he's good and ready to deal with you as to allow you to make an appearance immediately. I will say however that, once he sets his mind to it, the old Clefthorn will make sure those heathens will see justice. It might be easier to drop them off at the castle and let the town deal with it while you move on."
Elen says to the innkeeper, "Perhaps we should meet these twins. Do you know their names? And do their comings and goings follow any sort of schedule?"
"I don't know what their first names are, but they go by Bender whenever they come into town. As far as a set schedule, I would say not really, but they're here every couple of weeks or so. They were just in town just this past Saturday (it's Wednesday now), so I don't expect to see them again before the first of the month."
"Perhaps we'll see them in the camp then. So what's your going rate for rooms, board, and livery? We've got eight horses, one couple -- that's those two who just left -- myself and Ally here, one other woman who will probably insist on a private room, a couple of men who either don't sleep -- magic, y'know -- or prefer to sleep outdoors, and either two or three other men who will need rooms."
"So how long do you plan to stay? That would be my first question."
Elen says to the innkeeper, "Perhaps we should meet these twins. Do you know their names? And do their comings and goings follow any sort of schedule?"
"I don't know what their first names are, but they go by Bender whenever they come into town. As far as a set schedule, I would say not really, but they're here every couple of weeks or so. They were just in town just this past Saturday (it's Wednesday now), so I don't expect to see them again before the first of the month."
"No, none that I noticed. But they seemed intent on opening a trade route through to Nerosyan, from what I heard. There was, truth be told, such a road in the days from before old Aroden lost his head, Lords rest his soul. It was a long one, but it was traveled extensively and made good monies for those on its route. When the Worldwound opened up and changed things, though, well that road was more or less torn to bits due to the Mendevian Crusade and their siege on Tsar.
What with things being the way they are, trade is a secondary concern at best. Seems like one of those merchant houses over there on the coast want to changes things, however. The way they tell it, all they needed was enough guards to fight off whatever beasties were lying around waiting, and they could be fine. I hear tell that it made it up to the Camp, although that part's not too hard, it being only a couple of days ride from here."
"Mind if I sit down for a moment?"Assuming that you say yes... Maulf sits down and pulls some of the bread away from the loaf. "It's my mother's recipe for sourdough. I could eat this all day." He ponders for a moment, chewing on the bread before answering. "I would have to say not so much. Oh sure, we do get a fair share of people through here, mostly treasure hunters, but not with caravans, at least not the one I'm thinking of. They came here by way of Magnimar initially. A whole lot of them, probably four dozen or so wagons, piled to the brim with trade goods, some armed mercenaries, and chip on their shoulder if you ask me."
"I'll eat, certainly, " Elen replies. She then asks the innkeeper as he serves them, "So, as we were traveling here, we sighted a wing of gargoyles in flight. Have there been any attacks on the village?"
When he comes back, he is pushing a smallish cart, filled with bowls of fish stew, two loaves of bread, and what appears to be a pie. Maulf hands the pie over to Ruul, saying "Shepard's pie for you, my good man. I'm guessing some fish isn't going to be enough for you." The pie is almost the size of Ruul's head (minus the horns of course) and seems ready to burst with creamy mashed potatoes. The bowls get handed around and the bread is placed in the middle of the table. There is steam rising from the loaves.
"We do get attacked on occasion, ma'am,"Maulf says as he looks at Elen, "but not too lately. It's been rather quiet the last few weeks, every since that caravan left. Heading to Nerosyan they said, over land no less, and passing through that blasted Camp up yonder. Also, the last of the winter chill is coming down, which will keep the nasties away for a few weeks yet. They only rarely come this far south, they have better fish to fry over in Mendev, from the looks of it."
"Well, coin is all well and good, but as proprietor, I might be interested in seeing what kind of trade goods your group is carrying. Maybe we can barter. As for your horses, we have plenty of room in the stables behind the alley back there. If we can fit in some 60 odd horses for that caravan that passed through a few weeks ago, I think I can find something for your horses to munch on."
"My companions and I would like a place to rest and I could use a bath."
The bull looks around at the other patrons.
"Is there a problem? Does someone need their 'arse' kicked?" he asks in confusion.
The dwarf lets out a guffaw that almost takes his breath away. When he catches his breath again, he says "No, nope. No arses here need kickin,' at least, not until the sun goes down." This sets off the poor man again into a fit of laughs.
Finally calming down, he says to everybody, "Of course we got rooms, c'mon over here and we'll settle you up. Don't mind Molly, though. She's new here and isn't yet used to seeing people passin' through that aren't either human, dwarf, or elf." He walks back to the island and stands on a stool in the corner to face all of you (well, most of you) at eye level.
The door to the kitchens slams shut before Elen can say anything insulting to anyone. A moment later, a dwarven man walks out of the back and into the main room. Walking up to Ruul, the stout fellow looks up at him and says "Are you here to kick arse or to eat and sleep?"
