You cross a skybridge and look at the inn before you, brightly lit against the dark sky. It is a large three story building that sits on a ledge that juts precariously out from one of the towers in a less than reputable district of Sharn, City of Towers. A faded wooden sign over the door proclaims it to be “Gear’s Inn”. What you find inside surprises you; it is a large room, well lit but retaining a few shadowy corners and quite clean, very surprising considering the district that you’re in.
Perhaps a dozen tables are scattered throughout the room and in the southeast corner of the room sits a stage on which a halfling man performs a merry folk dance. Besides him two skeletons dance a jig in an entertainingly clumsy, jolting way. Behind the bar that lines the north wall a tall warforged painted in bright patterns mixes drinks and pours ale with impressive speed, all the while keeping up afrom table to table, taking orders for drinks from the many customers. A staircase spirals upwards to the second floor on the eastern side of the room and a sign besides it says “Rooms 1 silver/night. Apartments available.” in faded gold lettering. Most of the tables are filled with patrons, either merrily drinking or drowning their sorrows. The room smells of ale and food and that, combining with the music, the dancing skeletons and the shouts of merriment give the place the air of a festival.
A tall woman with a commanding air is holding a conversation
Listen 15
After a few minutes they seem to come to an agreement and the sailors sign a small roll of parchment and then leave. The woman remains seated a her table in the corner and begins to watch the room.
At a large table in the center of the room a rowdy bunch of young men and women with the air of university students are having a loud conversation about an upcoming expedition to the continent of Xen’drik. As the night wears on they tell increasingly far fetched stories about both Xen’drik and their own past exploits.
A grizzled middle aged man who looks like a sailor sits miserably at a small table in a shadowy corner of the room, staring into his oft refilled mug of ale.
A grey haired man in elaborate robes that mark him as a mage sits at a table along the wall, having an animated conversation with a halfling wearing the easily recognizable clothing of a native of the Talenta plains.
Spot 15
Listen 18
After their exchange the two sit back and watch the musician and his dancers, as if they haven’t a care in the world.
A young man with a furitive manner sits in the corner. His face is concealed by a hood, which he constantly adjusts. He seems to be waiting for someone, and continues to fidget.
Spot 22
A group of goblins sits near the stage, clapping ever more enthusiastically as the bard and his dancers move from song to song (and as they imbibe more and more ale). A few of them caper about in front of the stage.
A small creature in a black cloak sits in the shadows, its mug of ale untouched. After a few minutes the waitress, nervously brings it a plate of something that wriggles slightly and looks horribly like small snakes or large worms. The waitress seems extremely eager to get away from the creature and scurries off as soon as she puts the plate down. A taloned finger spears one of the things on the plate and takes it under the creature’s hood.
Dron Drox followed the grizzled old man into the Inn. From a distance he thought he might be a dwarf (Dron likes dwarves) but now Dron has realised he isn't a dwarf and the half-orc is slowly working out what to do next.
Dron stands over six foot tall and the thick muscular body weighs in at 300lbs. He is bald and wearing a decent chain shirt upon which nestles a holy symbol shaped as a swooping bird of prey. An old morningstar is attached to his belt.
He hops unconsciously from one foot to the other, then starts towards the bar to get a drink.
Guised as a human with a slight scar running diagonally across his nose, Wick enters the bar. He had some information that his sister might have been in the area, but then in Sharn it was particularly difficult to locate a changeling. He grumbled a bit about the amount of people here and took a seat at the bar, calmly examining the crowd for any behavior or nervous ticks that would indicate they were Kess in disguise.
Disguise Check (1d20+6=21)
Spot Check(1d20+1=2)
Listen Check(1d20+1=19)
Wick finds himself distracted by a small stain on the bar, but catches quite a few snippets of conversation as he tries to figure out what made it. He decides to order a good ale while he stays here.
The warforged standing behind the bar looks up as Dron approaches and says "Welcome to Gear's Inn. Can I get you something to drink? Perhpas some dinner?" in a booming voice that conveys a friendly disposition as he gets you a large mug of ale.
Wick, you gather no attention as you enter the tavern, apparently your disguise goes unnoticed. Gear greets you in the same friendly manner and retreives an ale of surprising quality for you. Most of the conversations you hear are of content. Discussions of daily life, stories from the shipping lanes and from the loud table of apparent Morgrave University students a story of a daring escape from the dark elves of Xen'drik that seems rather far fetched. But, there are two conversations of some interest; one between a tall, statuesque woman and two tough looking sailors and the other between the robed amn and the halfling merchant.
Horace walks into the bar attracted by all the noise. A rather dark, tall man with dreadlocks. everything on him looks sparkling clean and he he is constantly looking around as if there is is some unknown danger lurking about. After a few moments you notice he is is cautiously avoiding some of the dirtier folk. He is here because he has simply nowhere else to go. Disowned by his family, he learned how to fight as it was necessary to avoid danger. He is, without a doubt, a wanderer.
while walking by the inn, Irulan heard the music of the dancers, and came to see what it was about. She is wearing simple clothes in greens and browns, with her bow slung across her back. She looks around uncomfortably, not used to so much noise, and quietly sits down at an empty table near to the wall.
The waitress, a short, dark haired woman, comes up to Irulan's table and asks "What can I get for you tonight? We have the best ale in the district and our cook is second to none. Very affordable I might add. You don't look like you're from around here. What brings you to the famous city of Sharn?" she asks with a cheery smile.
Horace, you get some odd looks from the rest of the patrons as you stand nervously in the doorway. Finally the warforged behind the bar adresses you in a loud, welcoming voice "Don't just stand there! Come on in and enjoy our hospitality."
A tall half elven man sits by himself at a small table, his back to the wall, facing the front door. He has long dark hair, neatly combed and tied back behind his head, and a small, neatly trimmed goatee beard and moustache. His piercing blue eyes shine beneath his finely arched eyebrows. He is slim and attractive and wears well tailored, though relatively plain travellers clothes, as well as a suit of serviceable looking leather armour. A shortbow and quiver of arrows leans against a full backpack, resting by his feet.
The man’s eyes scan the room, as he sips his drink. Several empty cups litter the table before him, although he appears little the worse for wear for the drinking.
---
“Ah, civilisation,” Aldaeth toasts quietly to himself, before starting his next drink. Although this little tavern is not exactly his idea of civilisation … not nearly rowdy enough, and not nearly enough attractive women making eyes at him. Still, it is a far sight better than being stuck for weeks on a desolate rock in the Teeth … with that hole down into, for all Aldaeth knew, the depths of Khyber … and the things at night… Aldaeth shudders and quickly turns his mind from such thoughts.
Well, one thing was to be said for this place, it was unlikely that he would run into any ranking members of House Lyrander here. He had had quite enough of his extended family over the last week, enduring the continual dressing downs and admonishments from the House elders. By the Host, it was only one ship he had lost! One … very expensive, experimental elemental powered ship, with new House Lyrander technology on board. Alright, so he could see why his ‘favoured in House’ status had been revoked (probably for a long time), but he was still after all a Marked heir, not a child or a dullard. And he hardly saw what the amount he had imbibed the night before the voyage, or the number of young ladies he had entertained on that same eve, had to do with the price of fish in Flamekeep! It was, after all, a week into the voyage when things had gone wrong.
Aldeath sighed. Either way, he intended to keep away from Dragon Towers for some time … lie low, make some money, put together some schemes … come back and show them. The question was, whether to get out of Sharn for a bit, or see what could be made of what in the city?
Lost in thought, Aldeath gives only passing notice to the happenings in the inn, more interested in finding a likely looking person to buy him his next drink – or perhaps a friendly woman to warm his bed this eve. Or failing both of the above, at least a lead on how to make some money!
---
Well, he wasn’t going to achieve much sitting here on his own. Time to make a move soon…
The warforged standing behind the bar looks up as Dron approaches and says "Welcome to Gear's Inn. Can I get you something to drink? Perhpas some dinner?" in a booming voice that conveys a friendly disposition as he gets you a large mug of ale.
Wick, you gather no attention as you enter the tavern, apparently your disguise goes unnoticed. Gear greets you in the same friendly manner and retreives an ale of surprising quality for you. Most of the conversations you hear are of content. Discussions of daily life, stories from the shipping lanes and from the loud table of apparent Morgrave University students a story of a daring escape from the dark elves of Xen'drik that seems rather far fetched. But, there are two conversations of some interest; one between a tall, statuesque woman and two tough looking sailors and the other between the robed amn and the halfling merchant.
"Dring an' foo," replies the half-orc slowly. He opens a purse and pours out some silvers hopefully. Dron then begins to cuddle the ale in his paw-like fist, gently blowing at the top.
Gear says "IT is 1 silver for a drink and another 3 for a meal. Shall I get you something to eat?" he says pulling a tattered menu from beneath the bar and giving it to you.
not nearly rowdy enough, and not nearly enough attractive women making eyes at him
Dron's eyes narrow in concentration and he starts to count out the silver for the barman.
"One for dring,"
"One for foo, and one for foo and.." He gives up and looks at the barman helplessly. There are about eight silvers on the counter.
If the barman cannot help then he looks around for someone else to be a good fellow.
Wick reaches up to lightly scratch at the goatee his human disguise sported, and glanced across the room while placing down a silver to pay for his drink. He asks for a menu as he sees one being handed out to a half-orc, and then see the big oaf stumbling about with his coin.
"Hmmm, a large, stupid half-orc. Not too shocking," thinks Wick. "Now, should I try and milk his stupidity for money? Or actually help him and gain a large, dumb, physically intimidating shield that can save me from danger and may prove to keep me alive at some point."
Wick moves on down the bar and sits next to the hulking creature, placing down a few spare silver in front of the bartender.
"How about some food for the big guy, on me? Throw in an order for me as well."
Wick casually slides the rest of Dron's silvers back towards their owner and smiles up at him.
Gear nods and says "What can I get for you? While I've never tried it myself I've been told that the fish is excelent. I have a connection at the wharf that allows me to get the catch of the day."
You notice that the customers, who are well dressed and look like more or less respectable members of the community, begin to leave in small groups. A slight, pale woman with brilliant violet eyes and a confident demeanor comes down the stairs that lead to the second and third floors and sits at the bar, as if waiting for something. A new crowd begins to filter in. They're rougher, looking like sailors and common people. The bard begins to play a folk dance, to the enthusiasic clapping of the crowd. The mage and his halfling associate remain in their corner. The woman who was talking to the sailors remains, as do the Morgrave students and the strange creature in the shadowy corner.
Tired of this city and the constant press of bodies, Valis stood at the edge of the skybridge looking towards the tavern. She hasn’t eaten in a few days, partially because she didn’t like having to purchase her food when she knew she could find her own, but mostly because she did not like to seem like an imbecile while she tried to figure out how to pay. Most of her money had been stolen from her as she slept the first night she was in the city, and then the greedy merchants had taken the rest. If it hadn’t had been for a kindly halfling helping her when a fruit merchant charged her ten gold for an apple, Valis would be forced to find her own food and sleep out on the street, which she didn’t mind so much. She found buildings oppressive and all too similar to the past five years spent in his manor, trapped in the building without any contact to the outside world. It was much better to sleep in the gutter with the stars above and the wind in her ears than to ever go back there. Taking a deep breath, Valis walked across the bridge to the rambling tavern. Her hood pulled low over her face, walked into the bright festive tavern. The noise shocked her, setting her nerves on edge, but the smell was worse. All these humans, packed so close together and swilling ale was a foul combination. Steeling herself, Valis began to scan the room for an empty table.
She was dwarfed by the men, and often the women, in the tavern despite the fact she had been one of the tallest women in her tribe. Her hood shadowed her high cheekbones, golden almond shaped eyes, delicate mouth, and pointed ears that betrayed her elven heritage. She pulled down her hood, revealing dark hair stylishly cut in the latest fashion, though only the most observant would notice the cut of her hair through the feathers and braids that decorated it. Her hair made the sharp angles of her face even more pronounced and enhanced her air of deadly grace. With the full light of the tavern shining on her, it was quite apparent that she was pretty, like a furtive hunting cat in a cage. Her leather armor was ancient, her scimitar obviously second hand, and her long bow of shoddy make but she carried herself so gracefully that it didn’t seem to matter. Her armor covers most of her arms, but not all of her tattoos. The edge of them swirl out from beneath her armor, strange designs that could be elvish, but could be something else.
As Valis scanned the room, she noticed another elven woman on the far wall. Hastily, she began to walk towards the bar, her back to the woman, under the pretense of perusing a menu. The smell of cooking food made her stomach rumble. She notices a large half orc in the company of a smaller man with a goatee and notices how the half–orc handles money the same way she does, fumbling and reliant on the help of strangers. Anger wells up at the thought of being treated the same as a pitiful half orc, Valis walks past them to the other end of the bar and waits for the blue swirled metal man.
The brightly painted warforged walks over to where you sit and asks "What can I get for you? Been away from your homeland long? I happen to have some very fine mead, straight from the kingdom of Valenar. As a little reminder of home, only a silver." in the same friendly manner.
An argument between two sailors threatens to turn into violence near the door but at a threatening glance from the pale woman at the bar they take their argument outside.
After a few minutes the two furitive humans in the corner leave, nervously looking over their shoulders.
Spot check roll 15
Dron looks down at the bearded man and tries to work out if he is a dwarf. Then he grins from one tusk to the other and takes a drink.
He seems to have forgotten about his silver on the bar. In fact most of what is happening in the bar is passing him by without a thought.
"Dring, goo, verr'goo? Dron!"
He points proudly at his chest as he finishes.
"Another?" Gear asks, pointing towards your empty glass. The grizzeled man is not a dwarf and you notice nothing unusual (failed spot check).
"Another?" Gear asks, pointing towards your empty glass. The grizzeled man is not a dwarf and you notice nothing unusual (failed spot check).
Dron looks down at Wick and back again. He nods twice. "Dring goo. One for he an me peas."
Grins up at Dron. "Well Dron, nice to meet you. People call me Caspin."
Looks down at the bar, and sees another stain in the almost exact shape as the last one. "Huh. Either that stain is a design on the bar, or it's developed intelligence and is following me around."
"So Dron, what brings you here to Sharn?"
"May I have whatever your serving for dinner, too? Or some fruit? I hope this is enough for both..." Valis said quietly as she fished out her last remaining gold piece and pushed it towards the warforged. She knew a little about her cousins in the Valenar, and her Clan was an offshoot that left the continent for their own island. Her eyes swept around the common room again and a small bemused smile flicked across her face at the drunken sailors. She wondered who the pale woman was and what the sailors feared from her.
"It will be more than enough." replies Gear, taking the gold coin and giving you five silvers in return from the pouch on his belt. "We have a very excellent fish tonight. Fresh from the bay.". He hands you a glass of elven mead and then moves off to where Dron and Wick are sitting asking them "Have you decided on something to eat?"
The woman who was interviewing sailors earlier has resumed her conversations, but doesn't seem interested in what any of them tell her.
Aldearth
The mage's halfling associate bids the mage goodnight and then walks out of the tavern, whistling.
"The fish sounds absolutely lovely," Wick says absentmindedly to the 'forged. He seems to be somewhat focused on the entertainment, as if perhaps by baring the folksongs and dances with his ful ire he can cause their performer to burst into flames. Instead he begins to examine the crowd, seeing what sort of tune would perhaps offend the most people.
Slowly, a plot to burst into a good sailing shanty about ale, women, and more ale begins to rise into being. Now, all he had to do was pick the right song and find an opportune moment in the current entertainment's 'show'. Of course, food was slightly more important, so it would have to wait.
The warforged steps into a room behind the bar and a few minutes later brings out several plates, setting one wich also has some cut fruit, down in front of Alisilwen and the other two in front of Dron and Wick.
As you eat the mage comes up to the bar and rents a room from Gear and goes up the stairs.
“Hmmm, things seem to be looking up,” Aldaeth murmurs to himself, noticing the beautiful – if somewhat rustic – elf walk into the tavern and look around. Valenar? Could be … the garb and the scimitar seemed to indicate so, but the woman seemed somehow a lot less confident than the average Valenari elf.
Then he catches a glimpse of the tattoo below her sleeve. Interesting. Dragonmark? Aldaeth inadvertently glances down to where his own Mark rests below his shirt. Well, if she’s an elf with a Mark, it must be the Mark of Shadow. Dangerous. He shrugs. It was only a brief glimpse, may not have been a Dragonmark after all. Probably just a tattoo.
His musings missed him the chance to catch the woman’s eye, and her own gaze swept by him seemingly without notice, before she heads to the bar.
As the music picks up tempo with the advent of the evening crowd, Aldaeth quickly finishes his drink, stands, flashes the room a roguish smile and begins to head towards the bar – until he all of a sudden notices that the woman who had earlier been talking to a couple of sailors is watching him appraisingly. Hmmm. “Maybe she likes sailors,” he thinks, glancing down at his sea boots and the nautical cut of his jacket. Well, this one might be an easier catch than the elf anyway.
He begins heading towards the woman’s table, taps the man talking to her on the shoulder – “excuse me,” – and leans forward towards her.
“Good eve,” he begins, flashing her a grin, “I was just on my way to the bar, when mine eyes were drawn to you. May I buy you a drink my lady?”
"I'm just passing through," said Irulan. "Is your crowd here usually this noisy?" she askes, while looking at the half-orc with contempt, remembering the destruction of thier forest years ago. She looks around, and is constantly listening in on conversations for anything of interest.
Gear looks at Irulan and says "At this time of night, always. They get even louder in a couple of hours. Just wait until the goblins (pointing at the dancing goblins) get really drunk. They always come around when Serin plays here."
Aldearth, she looks up at you and says "I already have a drink but perhaps you can do something else for me. You're not a paladin or guardsmen are you?" She has dark brown hair, bright blue eyes and a generally comanding air and she looks like she knows how to use the well made rapier at her waist.
Aldaeth raises one of his finely shaped eyebrows enquiringly. “Hardly,” he replies to the woman. “I think I am not quite cut out for a career in the King’s Citadel, nor the Church of the Flame. Given that, how may I serve you?” The lady seemed competent and to know exactly what she wanted, which Aldaeth admired.
"Well, I'd like some elven mead and whatever you are serving for dinner." Irulan tells the waitress. She spots the strange black-cloaked creature in the corner, and tries to look as inconspicuous as possible while studying him.
The woman looks at you carefully for a moment before deciding you're telling the truth. "Just a question that I've learned to ask of possible employees. I'm first officer on a vessel thats looking for some new crew. Specifically, crew that has at least some experienc on the seas or are quick learners, competent fighters, and have at least some sense of stealth. If you're a mage we'll pay extra. We'll pay you a reasonable sum, depending on your skills and there might be...bonuses along the way. If you're not willing to break a few laws in order to get ahead then I'll go no further. If you are willing to get on the laws badside then, depending on what skills you have, you can considered yourself hired. If you want the job of course." she says in a confident manner, obviously probing for more information.
Irulan
After a few minutes the waitress returns to your table bearing a plate of fish and a glass of elven mead.
Aldaeth smiles confidently. Not exactly what he had in mind this evening, but looking for work was certainly near the top of his ‘to do’ list.
“Oh, I’ve had experience at sea,” he replies, ticking off points on the fingers of his upheld hand. “Check. Quick learner – check. Competent fighter,” he nods towards the weapons piled with his gear, “check. Stealth – check. And laws are made to be broken – or at least twisted to one’s advantage I always say. So,” he continues, seating herself at his table with a graceful flourish, “I suppose I could consider myself hired. Of course, I’d need to know a little more about the project before I commit myself to the job.”
Dron blinks as he eats his food.
Every now and then he scratches a little food from around his tusks.
The entertainment means little to the half-orc.
"Excellant." She says with a smile. "You're hired, Mr...?We mean to intercept some valuble shipments from Xen'drik and the rest of Khorvaire. We've had word of a shipment of some ancient valubles coming from Stormreach to here and if we can meet them halfway... We could all become a little wealthier. We don't expect to just sail up to them march aboard and take treasure without a fight, hence while we need people with some combat expertise. Where do your particular talents lie? Do you know anyone else who fullfils our requirements? We just need to figure out how much to pay you and everything should be in working order."
The warforged steps into a room behind the bar and a few minutes later brings out several plates, setting one wich also has some cut fruit, down in front of Alisilwen and the other two in front of Dron and Wick.
As you eat the mage comes up to the bar and rents a room from Gear and goes up the stairs.
"Thank you," Valis murmured as she tucked her silver peices back into her pouch. She slid the plate nearer to her and began to quietly eat with her fingers. The fruit was very good, especially since she hadn't eaten in a few days.
Wick quickly devoured the fish, mulling around ideas for songs and how exactly to interupt the current performance without seeming too nasty. It was one thing to one-up another performer, completely trashing their performance mid-song was rude.
"Hmmm, this fish is quite good. Do you have any idea what type it is Gear? I may have to find some while I'm out traveling."
Wick cleans off the rest of his plate and starts to slowly finish his ale.
"The fish doesn't matter. What matters is how you cook it. I think this is just ordinary cod but add in a few special spices and it becomes a culinary masterpeice. I'm glad you're enjoying it but this is the only place in all of Khorvaire where you can get it."
Several more humans come in, followed by a halfling man who goes up to the bar, giving Gear a few coins before going upstairs. He carries a Longsword and is wearing armor of some kind. Gear looks after him for a moment before sending the pale woman stealthily up the stairs after him. After perhaps a minute she returns and whispers something to Gear who nods and then gestures for her to return upstairs.
"Excellant." She says with a smile. "You're hired, Mr...?We mean to intercept some valuble shipments from Xen'drik and the rest of Khorvaire. We've had word of a shipment of some ancient valubles coming from Stormreach to here and if we can meet them halfway... We could all become a little wealthier. We don't expect to just sail up to them march aboard and take treasure without a fight, hence while we need people with some combat expertise. Where do your particular talents lie? Do you know anyone else who fullfils our requirements? We just need to figure out how much to pay you and everything should be in working order."
“Aldaeth,” he replies, taking her hand. “My particular talents? Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that… but the job at hand; as I previously stated, I have no fear of breaking laws, and I am hardly one to judge the morals of others. But piracy? You play a dangerous game ma’am. You must be aware that many of the ships that ply the ocean twixt here and Xen’drik are owned by the Houses, or else the journey’s paid for by them. Is there a particular House you are targeting in this case?”
He raises an eyebrow, awaiting a response. “In addition, whilst I can and will fight, I will have no part in killing common sailors trying to protect their ship. That is not my style, and if it is yours, I must wish you well on your endevour, but take my leave from you at this point.”
Aldaeth’s attention is caught by some of the going’s on in the room, but he keeps his eye firmly on the woman.
Aldeath (and anyone with an 18+ Listen check)
"We don't target any House in particular I try to avoid killing innocent sailors. Stealth is our preferred method, something you seem suited to. Now to payment, for your particular talents; 1 gold per day, 3 if we go into battle, 6 plus healing if you're injured. In addition you'll get a percentage of whatever we loot, increasing the longer you stay aboard."
Dron pays attention to the gristle stuck between his left tusk and teeth.
A squad of guardsmen suddenly enters with weapons drawn. The leader, a human man with graying hair and a network of scars that look like claw marks across his face, shouts “Everyone, stay where you are!” and then says “Alright, search the premises, he’s in here somewhere.” Take him alive if you can, but make sure you get the package back.” to the rest of the guards. The Watchmen spread out, apparently searching the crowd for a particular person.
As they begin to scan the crowd, the woman whom Aldeath has been speaking to sits back in the shadows a little to conceal her face more but the watchmen pass her and Aldeath by. Two of them go upstairs and the leader walks up to the bar, stands on one of the chairs and shouts “Has anyone seen this man? He is wanted for several crimes against the City of Sharn and The House Sivis. There is a substantial reward for anyone who should have any useful information.” He is holding up a sketch of Gnome who is smiling roguishly, even though in the picture he is in a jail cell. He is dark haired with pale skin and he bears the House Sivis symbol across the left side of his neck. After a few minutes a frustrated looking guard comes down from the second floor and shakes her head at the leader. A frown of frustration passes across his face and he shouts “His name is Cor d’Sivis. There is a reward of one hundred gold pieces to anyone who possesses useful information as to his whereabouts. An additional 100 gold to anyone who can bring him in, alive!” After a few looking around the crowd to see if any of them have any information he lets out a weary sigh and says “Alright, lets go. I have some explaining to do to the Sivis representative.” The guardsmen march off and the tavern returns to normal. The bard starts playing an upbeat march, made comical by the jerking dance the skeletons begin to perform. The goblins begin to caper about in front of the stage again and the Morgrave students go back to their stories. A few bands of common folk seem to be talking animatedly about what they could do with a 200 gold. After a few moments several drunken posses leave the establishment.
Valis shies away from the Watch as they enter the tavern, turning her head downward towards her plate in the pretense of eating. When the man steps up on the the chair next to her, she scoots a little to the side in a feeble effort to be stealthy. She doesn't care about what the gnome may or may not have done to upset the gaurd like that and looks to Gear once the Watch leaves.
"Are they always so abrasive?" she asks quietly once they have gone.
Gear looks at you and says "Oh the Captain is just in a bad situation. I imagine he's got House Sivis pestering him to return the gnome and whatever he stole, who will be very difficult to find. He doesn't have enough officers to go around, especially not with an intensive search going on so crime will increase and then the nobles will complain. I pity the man. Hopefully someone can capture the gnome or can find some useful information so the Captain can go back to his normal buisness. He's a good customer."
Turns around as the watch arrives, smiling and waving merrily at them. He took in the information about the wanted gnome with a slight smirk, and spoke to the half-orc sitting by him after the police had exited.
"Say Dron, you wouldn't happen to know anything about this Cor d'Sivis character, would you? Finding him may prove profittable, and may have some head-bashing involved. Something tells me you might be the right type of guy to have along for head-bashing."
Wick takes a long draught of his ale, completely forgetting about the performance he was intending. Finding such a character would undoubtably involve dealing with the seedier side of Sharn, whom he could seek out later in a different guise and use to help with his search. He pulled a crimson hankerchief from his pocket and cleaned his growing smile.
Even if this didn't lead to his sister, if could be quite...useful.
As the gaurds walked out, Irulan breathed a sigh of relief. She gathered up her food and mead and walked to the bar, hoping to find out more about the gnome. She chose a seat next to another elven woman, more comfortable around her than around the half-orc. She scanned the tavern again for the strange creature, but gave up after a few seconds. While eating, she listened intently to the conversations around her, hoping to hear something about the gnome.
Before Aldaeth can answer the woman, there is a brief burst of excitement as the Watch bursts in with talk of a reward for some gnome. “Hmmm,” thinks Adlaeth to himself, “two hundred easy gold certainly sounds better than two hundred days ship-board to earn the same…”
Noting that the woman was quick to conceal herself at the sight of the Watch (but with her apparent profession that was no surprise), Aldaeth says, “Well my lady, that offer sounds most generous, but you understand that I will need some time to think on it. I did not come to this place tonight looking specifically for work, more for good drink and good company. Give me the evening to ponder, and I’ll let you know, Miss…?” realising that he doesn’t yet know the woman’s name.
“In the meantime, I’m going to buy a drink, talk to some people. Who knows, I may meet someone else who would be right for your project.”
With that Aldaeth stands, bows, and heads over to the bar.
Irulan, most of the talk in the tavern is of very little use, mostly just wild fanatasies about what one would do with 200 gold and equally wild suppositions about what the gnome could have done.
Aldeath, the woman says until your a member of the crew I'd rather not divulge my name. If you're interested, seek out the Dragonwing down at the docks. The ship is being repaired right now so you have a week to make up your mind." She stands up and slips out of the door into Sharn's night.
“The Dragonwing,” he repeats. “Well, as I said, I shall think on it,” he says and leaves for the bar.
“Well, perhaps it is my lucky day,” thinks Aldaeth to himself, as he reaches the bar and notices another elven woman standing near the one he noticed earlier. He frowns slightly, as he notices that both seem somewhat ill at ease in this place; which may suggest they will not be partial to being approached by strange men… but then he gives an ironic grin. “Nothing strange about me, is there? And nothing gained if nothing tried!”
Squeezing himself into the space between the two women, he waves to Gear, who has just finished speaking to the woman with the scimitar. “Good eve Gear, another glass of the good house wine if you would?”
He then turns his head to look at the two elves. “And a good evening to you both too,” he says. “It began as such a quiet evening, but the place is getting almost rowdy isn’t it? I’m Aldaeth by the way, Aldaeth d’Lyrandar.”
Wick makes a soft snicker as he hears Aldeath's comments when the half-elf sits at the bar. "Aldaeth, " Wick mumbles softly. "Must be elven for 'smarmy bastard'." He takes a deep drink of his ale and looks around the room, not seeming to pay any attention to Aldaeth's presence.
Spinning on his barstool so his back is up against the bar he turns his head slightly to star up at the 'forged bartended. "Gear, might you know where the captain that was in here is stationed? That might be as good a place to any to start looking for clues. I might at least be able to ply some details as to what he did."
Finished with his food and still unable to get that gristle (it has been there for weeks), Dron listens seriously to Wick.
He mulls over the idea of head-bashing and someone called Cor Sivis then a light comes on inside.
"Dring?!"