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4807 AR
The casual observer would be surprised at the cosmopolitan composition of this class. Dwarves, elves, halflings, humans are represented as well as gnomes and kobolds. It seems that they are all interested and eager to hear the Professor give his Discourse on the Founding of Falcon’s Hollow and Its Rise.
The Professor mounts the podium and gently raps its wooden surface. “Falcon’s Hollow would not be the city it is today if it had failed to survive the Blackscour Plague that rose up early in its infancy…”
One mischievous elf calls out, “My father told me that a great elven archmage dispelled the plague.”
Another, a human boasted that it was human ingenuity that stopped the plague.
Shaking his head in the negative, the Professor continues, “It all began with an unlikely combination of heroes….”
Sunday, 9 Sarenith, 4707 AR, Present Time
It is a testament to greed and desperation that even today, the people of Falcon’s Hollow work. In one street corner, a would-be prophet vainly exhorts the people to lay aside their work just for a moment and worship the gods. But the people are a downtrodden lot and have seen very few signs of the gods’ beneficence, so they work.
The first thing anyone sees upon entering the Northern Gate of Falcon's Hollow is the Sitting Duck, an inn. Unsurprisingly, it is doing brisk business. Many adventurers, explorers and other rapscallions are there to sate their thirst.
For Drint:
For Fjyndel Klingroot:
For Girther Stonestriker:
For Quince Darkivy:
The rose-colored kobold wanders into the tavern, and sits down at the nearest table. He calls out, agitated,
"Isssssss there no one alive to nurssssse a koboldsss thirssst?"
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A large server in a dress appears at your side and deposits a mug at your table. Drint is not sure if this is a human female. The requisite mammary glands are standing out but the generous amount of facial hairs makes Drint wonder.
"You sit. You drink. No dawdling. That will be a silver." Says the server in a low voice. The server holds out a rough and calloused hand to accept payment.
Girther stares blankly at the people passing in and out the Northern Gate. He squats nonchalantly across from the Sitting Duck wondering for the umpteenth time why his wanderings have brought him to this miserable patch of land known as Falcons Hollow. His shield is secured to his backpack and he balances his urgrosh across his knees. The clatter of everyday life combined with the droning of a completely ignored cleric is just white noise to him. He is focused on his task. He surveys each and every passerby trying to discern if any are in need of his protection. "I wonder if Glintaxe spent his days squatting in the dust?" He allows his imagination to run wild for a moment. With a start he realizes that a rose colored kobold has walked right past him and is headed for the Sitting Duck. Girther rises and follows, thinking to himself that someone may need protection from that one. He enters and sees the kobold seated at a table near the front. He angles towards the back intending on taking a seat that will allow him to watch the kobold and the door. He prefers to be directly behind the kobold with his back to the wall.
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Girther sees a large human server in a dress deposit a mug in front of the rose-scaled kobold. Girther is confused as to the gender of the server.
Girther, Listen Check DC 20:
Quince sees the inn and decides to drop in. While not too excited about the name (seems like a bad omen), the thought of a soft bed and a cold drink to wash the road dust out of his mouth overcomes any reservations he might have. Admonishing Risk to stay close, Quince walks inside and looks around for a free seat.
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Quince goes inside the Sitting Duck.
The common room of the Sitting Duck is filled with people while smoke, noise, sweat and ale all conspire to overwhelm the senses.
In one corner, there is a group of four mercenaries huddled around a table whispering, conspiring. Their weapons appear to be well used. Fresh blood stains mark one spear blade. At the next table sits a cloaked figure. A smoking pipe is visible from the folds of the cowl though the wearer’s face is unseen. The cloaked figure pulls to his lap a female and starts to fondle her. The female is young. Too young, but she don’t seem to mind the attention and appears to welcome it.
DC 15
DC 20
Large party of lumberjacks has occupied three tables on the opposite side of the common room. They appear to be celebrating a particularly successful foray into the forest. Over the din of the common room, one man is heard saying, “Mista Kreed, will surely give us a big bonus!”
At another table sits a rose-scaled kobold. He is nursing a drink. Others inside the common room don’t appear to mind his presence. A dwarf sits at the table behind the kobold.
Quince heads to the bar to get a drink, not really noticing much of what is going on.
The kobold pays the server the money, and happens to glance at the dwarf nearby, who is glaring at him. Remembering the raids on his village, he speaks.
"Do you want ssssomething, dwarf, or issss it a common hobby of your kind to gather dusssst? Perhapssss that is the reasssson you ssssit there, dusssst-gatherer?"
Drint sips from his drink nervously, looking not quite as bold as his words imply.
Girther watches the actions of the other people in the bar with a scowl on his rugged face. Girther marks the man with the girl wearing the gold chain as a potential for justice. Slavery is only one short step above cannibalism in his mind. His scowl deepens as he studies the man. His attention is pulled away from the pair by the kobold he followed in here. Girther ignores the insult and satisfies himself with trying to stare a hole in the koblods head
The kobold stares nervously. The dwarf remained unangered by his remark. He could be a dangerous opponent.
The kobold curses. He was a fool to start an argument with this dwarf. He would get himself killed, or worse, perhaps someone would recognize him?
"I-I spoke hastily." He stammers. "I apologize for my rudeness. I am Drinta Coppersworth."
Don't tell him your name, idiot! He thinks. You'll be recognized! Idiot!
Fjyndel followed a hint, that Falcon's Hollow would be the hometown of a somewhat greedy and environmentally harmful so-called Lumber Consortium. As he entered the town, he had a glimpse on a party of lumberjacks going into the Sitting Duck. The gnome followed them in, hoping to meet some drunken lumberers who would give him answers to some questions.
In the inn he looked around. He couldn't just step up to the lumberjacks, that would be too obvious.
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Fjyndel sees a large party of lumberjacks. They are occupying three tables on one side of the common room. They are toasting someone called "Mista Kreed."
Also, Fjyndel sees a rose-scaled kobold seated at one table and behind him a dwarf is also seated at another table. At the bar, Fjyndel notes a halfling sipping a drink.
A cloaked man on another table is fondling a female too young for such a profession.
Meanwhile, the large female/male server deposits a tankard of a dark, bitter brew on Girther's table. A low voice declares, "A silver."
At the bar, Quince nurses a mug of the same dark, bitter brew. An action that is mimicked by a lone rose-scaled kobold at one table.
Girther pauses and gives the server a long look. He then digs into his belt pouch and hands over a silver. Girther is trying to cover his surprise. “Did that kobold just apologize to me?!” Girther makes a quick decision. Before the server turns away he grabs him/her by the hand and presses two silver pieces into it. “Get that gnome who just entered a drink and ask him to please join me. Keep the other silver as a token of my appreciation,” he says. Girther hopes the gnome will sit and share stories for a while. After the server leaves he stands and approaches the kobold, “My name is Girther StoneStriker and my mission in life is to seek out and slay any and all who would kill and eat the innocent. May I sit?” he states while giving the kobold a flat stare. He watches; gauging the kobolds reaction.
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Fjyndel is standing at the entrance of the Sitting Duck when a large shadow suddenly loomed over him. A female/male server hands Fjyndel a mug of a dark and bitter brew and tells him in a low voice, "The dwarf over there is buying. He'd like to have you over." The female/male server gives Fjyndel a malicious grin after saying that.
Girther pauses and gives the server a long look. He then digs into his belt pouch and hands over a silver. Girther is trying to cover his surprise. “Did that kobold just apologize to me?!” Girther makes a quick decision. Before the server turns away he grabs him/her by the hand and presses two silver pieces into it. “Get that gnome who just entered a drink and ask him to please join me. Keep the other silver as a token of my appreciation,” he says. Girther hopes the gnome will sit and share stories for a while. After the server leaves he stands and approaches the kobold, “My name is Girther StoneStriker and my mission in life is to seek out and slay any and all who would kill and eat the innocent. May I sit?” he states while giving the kobold a flat stare. He watches; gauging the kobolds reaction.
Drint is surprised by Girther's courteous reaction. He feels respect for this dwarf.
"Go ahead." He gestures to a seat at his table. "Be my guest."
Listen Check (1d20+7=10)
Spot; Sense Motive; (1d20+3=7, 1d20+3=22)
Fjyndel is surprised by the appearance of the mug in his hands and follows the dwarf, who seems to be the contributor, to the table of the kobold.
"I have to thank you for the drink? How did I earn this honour?" he asks.
Quince thinks to himself, A dwarf, a kobold, and a gnome at the same table? This should be interesting!
He chokes down a swallow of the bitter brew and tries to overhear their conversation.
Listen roll (1d20+3=7)
The kobold does not seem to mind the appearance of a gnome, though he is surprised.
Truly, tis an amazing spectacle when a dwarf can bring a gnome anywhere near a kobold. The gnomes i remember were always quite nasty to us. Something must be happening, as i thought it would.
"What is your name, gnome? Mine is..." Too late to lie now. "Drinta Coppersworth, called Drint."
"Well Drint, I'm Fjyndel, pleased to meet you." replies the gnome.
Calistria, what are you thinking? A kobold, a gnome and a dwarf, sitting in an inn...
"Hello, Fijendel. That issss quite a name."
Girther introduces himself to the gnome and makes a little small talk. However his eyes keep drifting back to the hooded man in the corner. It is clear that his attention is elsewhere. The age of the girl, the chain, the collar all grate on his nerves. He keeps telling himself that he is a stranger in a strange land; the customs of these people are not the customs of his people. But the anger builds. Anyone paying the slightest bit of attention can see that Girther’s demeanor has taken on a menacing edge.
Drint notices the anger of his new friend.
"Dwarf, thissss issss not the placccce for a fight. I'd rather...ramain unnoticed.
All the same, Drint is not pleased either.
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Emerging from the shadows, Girther sees one of the biggest half-orcs he has ever laid eyes on. Strapped across its back is an ornate greatsword. Girther gets an impression that this creature has fought and survived more fights than all the people in this room combined. The half-orc then bows slightly to the cloaked figure. The cloaked figure nods back. The half-orc then retreats back into the shadows.
"I ssssay..." Drint stares at the man, "Who do you supposssse he issss? I know not why, but I don't trusssst him."
Quince sees the half-orc (a rather intimidating fellow) and decides there is safety in numbers. He heads over to the table.
"This looks like the start of a great joke: A dwarf, a gnome, and a kobold walk into a bar...so why not add a halfling?"
Quince flashes a friendly smile, but can't quite help throwing a nervous glance at the half-orc.
"Mind if I join you, gentlemen? Quince Darkivy, at your service," he says, sketching a small bow.
Fjyndel notices the half-orc as well, after following the look of the drint, responding to the kobold quietly: "Thats one thing. And though the half-orc is scary, I think that hooded one is more dangerous."
"Now, what would be the pun of that joke? Or would that line be the pun itself? Anyway, I'm known as Fjyndel, pleased to meet you Quince." says the gnome.
Girther studies the half orc carefully. For a brief instant his hand clenches on his urgrosh. Then, his conscience speaks to him in the voice of his brother, “You made an oath to Torag. Now is not the time to throw away your life.” Girther relaxes his grip on his weapon. Then he leans forward in his seat and says, “Gentlemen I have had my fill of the Sitting Duck. Is there someplace else we could go or something else we could do?”
Fjyndel notices the half-orc as well, after following the look of the drint, responding to the kobold quietly: "Thats one thing. And though the half-orc is scary, I think that hooded one is more dangerous."
"Now, what would be the pun of that joke? Or would that line be the pun itself? Anyway, I'm known as Fjyndel, pleased to meet you Quince." says the gnome.
Welcome, Quinsssse. And I agree, Figendel. The cloaked one is dangeroussss.
Sssstonesssstriker, I know not where to go. Perhapssss our friends have ssssuggestionssss?
"I am new to Falcon's Hollow, I don't know a better place to stay. And I'd like to meet some of those lumberjacks, when their tongue is a bit more loose... I got some questions to ask. But there sure are some more lumberers around, if someone knows another place to go."
Girther turns to Fjyndel and asks, "Why are wanting to question the lumberjacks?”
"I as well am curioussss. What is sssso important about ssssome wood cutterssss
Quince decides to try and relieve some of the tension that's so palpable at the table. He takes a seat, and a small fox with big ears curls around his feet.
"Sadly, I know nothing of other inns, nor of lumberjacks. But what brings you fine gentlemen to Falcon's Hollow?" He shoots a glance at the frighteningly masculine barmaid. "I certainly hope it wasn't for the 'ladies'."
The gnome is a little shy, now beeing center of attention of his newly found acquaintances, but soon finds his voice to explain: "I was raised be a circle of driuds and became a druid myself. Therefore I am a guardian of nature, a protector of woods. And it has come to my attention, that Falcon's Hollow is hometown to the so called Lumber Consortium, which, so I have heard, take great advantage of the wood in the vale.
It is a difference if a forester cuts down some trees to give young and new ones space and air, or if those lumberers do overfelling to gain personal wealth.
But I do not know what really happenes here, therefore I would like those lumberjacks to speak with loose tongues. Which works best, when they are drunk and unsuspecting. And that is my reason to be here.
But now I am curious why a single kobold would willingly visit a human town. What is your story, Drint?"
The kobold is surprised by the gnome's question. "M-my story?" He stammers. "I-I was raised a ways away from this town, a-and hoped to m-make my--"
Suddenly he begins speaking frantically in a strange and foreign tongue, in a dog-like voice.
"Branker eint Kattel Treb, lebt to sike farchin. Whe duj yoo cor? I dojn't duj noh wrag! I doj't duj noh wrag!"
For those who speak Draconic:
Girther is taken aback when the kobold begins to yelp like a startled dog. “Easy Drint”, he says, “please settle down and speak in a language that we can all understand. As for me, I am seeking a chance to fulfill my oath to Torag; to kill any and all that would kill and eat the innocent. However, I am failing miserably in that endeavor and I am nearly broke at the moment.” Girther takes a long drink. “What kind of information do you need?” he asks. Girther dislikes having all that open sky over his head, but he is ready to leave the Sitting Duck and would not mind walking around town gathering up any information he can on the Lumber Consortium. He shares this idea with his newfound friends.
"I-I am sorry. I-I meant that I c-come from a tribe of kobolds, and c-came here to seek my fortune."
He seems uneasy.
"Well..." he says, "I would be happy to talk with the woodcutters."
"Woodcutters or walkabout, it's all the same to me. Perhaps we could see the town to appease the dwarf, and come back later when the lumberjacks are drunk to help the gnome."
"Woodcutters or walkabout, it's all the same to me. Perhaps we could see the town to appease the dwarf, and come back later when the lumberjacks are drunk to help the gnome."
"Then again, the woodsmen might be gone by then."
"It's a lumber town. I'm sure it has no shortage of drunken, loose-tongued lumbermen to question."
"That'ssss a good point. Well, then, I'm all for taking a sssstroll."
“Well, how about a divide and conquer strategy?” asks Girther. “Some of you could remain here and try to get some useful information from the lumberjacks. Some of us could explore the town a little and asks a few questions. We could meet back here in, say, four hours or so?”
For Radavel
Hours taken to Gather Information: 2 Hours and 2 Hours.
Gather Information: (1d20-2=0)
Gather Information: (1d20-2=5)
I included a -2 modifier because Girther doesn't have "a few gold coins to throw around".
Not that it would have made any difference. :D
I got a freak'n ZERO! Does that mean I lose information? "Girther just forgot what his name is."
It's worse than I thought! I forgot to include his negative modifier for his low charisma. Girther stops and says aloud, "Who am I and why am I here?"
"I do not think it wisssse to sssseparate, what with the cloaked man here. I do not trusssst him.
Quince claps Drint on the shoulder. "Nonsense. A cloak doesn't make the man. But since a few of you seem uneasy, let's see what else the town has to offer. Drink up, gentlemen!"
Quince takes another sip of his dark brew, grimaces, and pushes it away.
"I'm done."
"I am okay with that. I am sure, the town will have plenty of lumberjacks to ask anytime we would want them. And it is not like they are going to stop from now to yet anyway." replies the gnome, then finishes his drink and is ready to go.