Welcome to Jasper.
It's not large, not as towns go: a mostly-circular settlement that can be walked the entire circumference in under an hour, and crossing directly through take only a few minutes if you're not stopped by anything or anyone along the way. As a trade village, though, Jasper survives by persuading passers-by to stop, and this is a task at which they succeed very well.
Entering along one of the roads that passes through Jasper places you right along the trading route, and the town's shops and stores line the streets with the residential buildings further back. Many of the buildings are expectantly adorned with signs portraying their wares to the interested eye; which of these they catch first is of course based on by which way they enter the town. Those arriving from the northeast - from Grendar - will see the smoke billowing from the chimney of the dark stone building with little decor or excess simply marked as "Xen's Forge".
Those who enter from the northwest - from Luminienne - are greeted by a short, stocky building without title or decoration save a gemmed butterfly hanging over the door, a holy symbol of Desna marking the building as a small shrine. Across the trade road from this is a small hut from which flickering lights occasionally ensue; a stone half the height of an average human has been set out in front of it, and bears carvings that flicker with light during the day proclaiming the hut as a store, "Arcana and Alchemy by Tathviel". Whatever runic script or spell the owner has placed on the stone, as soon as the sun sets it grows dull, suggesting the store will not respond to inquiries by night.
Those who journey from the south - from the lands beyond the ice - see several stores along the main road, most bearing simple names such as "Goods and Supplies" or "Orran's Kennel", but occasionally with hints of the wit and humor required for a merchant to draw attention and succeed in a far larger town with names like "Horse Sense" for a stable and supply store.
What is likely to draw the attention of all, though, is the building located at the very center of town, at the point where the two trade roads meet, clearly visible from all three entrances. This building marks the northern end of the trade road arriving from the south, and the "halfway stop" of the road traveling east to west from Grendar to Luminienne. The largest building in Jasper bar none, the two-story inn and tavern marked as "The Brawny Grizzly" is the crowning point of Jasper, the most identifiable and famous building in the entire town. Every non-resident who spends more than a day in the area generally finds residence in the Grizzly: unless you have family or friends willing to lend you a spot on their floor in Jasper, it's the only place that has room for travelers, merchants, and adventurers passing through.
It is midmorning, shortly after 9 AM. A caravan, bound for Grendar in two days, arrived late yesterday evening. Either you arrived with them, traveling for the safety of company and companionship, or came separate either recently or some time ago, or you have just arrived today. Whatever your reasons, whatever your origin, your travels have brought you to here, now. This is Jasper of the Frostfell.
Here your story truly begins.
Do you wish to visit the alchemist we've heard is here or not?
I'll want to stop by the shrine when the priest is there.
Barkeep, I'll need two plates of anythin fresh. My partner'll be joinin me at ta table inna corner.
Perception check to notice goings-on, and anything out of the ordinary:
Perception check to notice goings-on, and anything out of the ordinary: 1d20+9
Sorry, I should have posted as my character.
Sindri:
The bustle of the kitchen is a constant ruckus in the common room of the Grizzly, but not so much that it's difficult to hear over. The inn is not heavily packed, and the common room is large and has plenty of room to go around. The barkeep, Meiradweth Crosswater, is a somewhat stocky middle-aged halfling woman with dark skin and pale brown hair with slivers of silver, with the physique of a retired adventurer; she offers you a friendly wave in acknowledgement of your request and calls through a low-set window in the wall between the bar and the kitchen "two of the hot'n'fresh!" She then stomps up a small stool and turns her attention back towards a customer at the bar, pouring her a morning drink. A young boy - a human or half-elf, probably no older than twelve - stands waiting at the far end of the bar with barely-restrained patience until Meira motions him forward to speak with him.
Renalia:
The tavern is fairly active, doubling as an inn and breakfast house it lacks the morning slowness of most bars. As the major point of gathering for the town, and with a caravan recently arrived, it's not surprising that the tavern is alive this morning.
The most unusual thing you notice is the caravan members themselves. Of various races, about ten in all, they sit on the side of the tavern nearest the door and talk amongst themselves in a happy murmur, occasionally bursting into riotous laughter. Some of them will wave or otherwise address anyone who passes close, and there's one fellow - a willowy gnome - who seems willing to proposition any woman who comes nearby. From the bits and pieces you've caught, he has the worst pickup lines you've ever heard.
The next thing to catch your eye is a cork postboard near the stairs heading upstairs, which Sindri just passed as he descended. It's covered in pieces of parchment and paper held up with tacks, nails, caltrops, thorns, sharp rocks, and anything else hard and pointed enough to do the job. Seems to be some kind of advertising or notice board - not surprising in a tavern in a trading town.
An elf wearing a bandoleer full of vials of strange liquids enters the common room and makes his way to the smiling man. "Morning, Sindri. What are they serving for breakfast?"
Kitchen's sendin' out somhtin' fresh. Probly get a cup a sumptin hot along wit.
Ya want comp'ny to ta visit Tathviel?
I'm goina check out that note board afta we've eaten. Maybe folks need sumptin done.
Thanks. This is Variel, my partner. I'm Sindri. Can we get a pair o' cups of somthin' hot along with?
Is the shrine I saw on the side a town run by a priest?
"Barkeep, your strongest ale please." She slaps down 1 gp. "Keep the change." She takes the beverage and heads over to the cork postboard to see what's being offered.
Thanks. This is Variel, my partner. I'm Sindri. Can we get a pair o' cups of somthin' hot along with?
"Sure thing hun," the friendly halfing replies as she places two softly steaming plates of food in front of the two men. Both have a couple of slices of ham, an egg slightly darker than average (probably not chickens), and a few pieces of toast. A nice warm country breakfast.
She returns a few moments later with two cups of warm, dark-brown cider.
Is the shrine I saw on the side a town run by a priest?
"Aye, it is," she says with a nod and a smile. "Nerele's her name, young thing, fairly new to town too, only been here a few months. Buildin' that little shrine was a town affair for a week or so. She's generally out and about in the mornin's but should be back by noonish."
"Barkeep, your strongest ale please." She slaps down 1 gp. "Keep the change." She takes the beverage and heads over to the cork postboard to see what's being offered.
Meira nods and reaches down to retrieve a bottle of dark liquor from the cabinets behind the bar. "Here ya are darlin'," she says brightly, collecting up the coin and tucking it into the pockets of her apron. The ale is bittersweet and vaguely flavored of almonds, but its bite leaves no doubts as to the potency of the alcohol.
Several bills and posts adorn the notice board. Most of them are hand-scrawled requests asking for a particular item, supply, or animal for a particular task. A few though seem designed to catch the eye of an adventurer. You see a few notices of a reward for proof of the death of a particular beast or troublemaker - given names by the locals such as "Renard the Blue Wolf" and "Gibjar, Goblin Trapper". Many bear warnings of the creature's danger and its exploits of the past that brought about the desire for its death, or include hints as to where it may lair or what territory it tends to roam. Nearly all direct those wishing to collect the reward to Alardan Listrew at the Jasper Town Hall.
The most recent - likely as no other notices overlap it - seems to be a request for aid from experienced trackers, investigators, and warriors involving stolen property. Interested parties should inquire at the local kennel for Orran Grimknuckle.
Renalia takes a large gulp from her mug, swallowing half of what's left from her ale. She then plucks the note about needing trackers from the board and heads over to where Variel and Sindri are sitting. She puts the note down in the middle of table, finishes off her drink, and sits with them.
"Good morning gentlemen. I'm sure that we all have one thing in common," Renalia then pauses, "we all have heard the call of adventure. My name is Renalia Renhart, but you can call be Ren."
Odette enters the tavern, a huge silvery axe strapped to her back and a scowl on her face after being informed this is the only place in town to find accomodation. A Polar Bear cub follows at her heels, sniffing the air as he goes and stopping with her to survey the tavern floor. The scowl deepens when she spies the eleven foot form of the building's namesake.
She stalks up to the bar and asks for a room for two nights, wanting to at least see what the trading post has to offer before she takes her leave back to her cave.
She then plucks the note about needing trackers from the board and heads over to where Variel and Sindri are sitting...
Though popular by night when the frozen winds howl outside, the seat closest to the fireplace is seldom occupied by the young or strong when morning comes, however brisk the weather may be outside. This morning however, such a man quietly sat, still wrapped in obviously new clothes more suited to the frost outside than his likely overwarm seat. His skin is fair, though recently tanned. He had been steadily munching his way through an old packet of jerky and staring longingly at the "hot'n ready" breakfasts when you entered the room. As you tear down the notice, he stands.
Unfurling like a sail going up the mast, he tops nearly seven feet tall and carries the muscle of one who has done hard work for a living, rather than pleasure. The man is both more and less impressive as he moves to follow you. A breastplate beneath his overcoat adds bulk to his lean frame, but the clear lack of weapons vies with that one martial note. His features are even and pleasant, his manner open and easygoing. However, he moves so very slowly and with great care, like a dog having just grown into his paws and trying terribly hard not to trip over his own feet. Thus, he arrives at the table slightly after you have made yourself comfortable and given introduction.
Gunnar stands uneasily behind the remaining chair, not wanting to intrude, but driven by clear need. His voice is soft and slow, with a touch of rustic drawl. "My name is Gunnar. I hope I'm not interrupting, but if'n you're going to take the job...
I need the work."
The glowing orb a handspan across pops up from over his shoulder to emphasize the point, as does the ferret poking his head out of a deep pocket. The oddly intelligent-seeming rodent nods eagerly, though it's master doesn't notice.
BTW: Spellcraft DC 20 ID's the soulspark as a soulmeld. Knowledge Arcana or Planes can give further information on his class to those who succeed.
She stalks up to the bar and asks for a room for two nights, wanting to at least see what the trading post has to offer before she takes her leave back to her cave.
"Sure hun," the pleasant-sounding halfling replies, sliding open a drawer and withdrawing one of the iron keys used for the room doors. "It's three silver a night."
Meira, would you get my new friends some breakfast?
So, who are you folks?
Meiradweth, looks like the snow has brought some fresh flakes to town. Please bring me my usual drink.
So, who are you folks?
The tall man takes the invitation happily and settles himself at the table. Some of the odder details stand out now that he's closer at hand. His body is flaked with tiny crystals, embedded in or growing from his skin. They glint slightly in the light, not with the shine of gems, but more like common salt. A tattoo of sorts twines about his neck depicting a copper and black dragon facing off, jaws wide and ready to unleash toxic breath. Light also catches on a different source, as sitting down has pushed his breastplate higher on his chest. The sparkling gleam of ice rings his torso, perhaps explaining his comfort by the fire.
"If'n you mean quite what you say that is a long answer to be told. I suspect you meant more like 'What do you folks do?' I'm what village folk call a hired hand, or as the city folk call it, a man of odd jobs. I've done most sort of tasks at least once, from hauling in catch to catching thieves. My last job was bodyguard...also sometimes sorcerer. I give a fair days work for a fair day's wage, keep my word, and pay my debts.
Speakin of which, I thank you for the meal. I'm not from around here. Most jobs on the board call for a crew an I'm as shy on friends as I am of coin at the moment. So, turnabout bein fair play an all, what have you to say for yourself?"
He's said enough for the moment and tucks in with a country boy's appetite when the food arrives.
"A pleasure to meet both of you." The elf moves to shake Ren and Gunnar's hands. "I'm Variel, traveling alchemist. You probably saw my wagon by the stables. This is Sindri, my traveling companion and priest of Shelyn."
"You said you were a sorcerer, correct? That's, uh, interesting."
Odette takes the key from the Halfling woman and pays her the money, also inquiring as to food for her stay. While open, she examines the contents of her coin purse with a frown, thinking that she may have to find some way to make money while here as the last of her father's savings was not going to get her far.
She orders two bowls of stewed meat, one for her and one for Pierson, and turns to survey the room before her, looking for a spare seat with room for the Polar Bear curled at her feet to stretch out. Spying a spare seat opposite Orent with enough space next to it to comfortably accomodate Pierson, she moves over and sits down, asking a little too gruffly if it was alright for them to join him while they ate.
Orent rises when Odette asks if she and her polar bear cub can join him.
"Yes, you may. You are new in town. Just passing through or do you plan to stay awhile?"
Orent settles back into his seat with his eyes on Odette but his ears on the conversation at the next table.
She looks up at the Dwarf, not expecting him to want conversation and not sure how to respond without seeming awkward.
"I have paid for two nights so far, although I do not aim to stay longer unless there is a way for me to make some money while here. I do not have a great need for it, but it is useful for purchasing supplies occasionaly."
We're new to town too. Just got in yesterday. Was the best day's sleep I've had in weeks. Sure is a pleasure to have a fresh bed and someone else's cookin. No offense, Variel.
Your friend is a beauty. Does he mind pettin? Oh, and this is Variel, Gunnar, and I'm Sindri.
Renalia looks over all the new people sitting at the table. She points to the flyer she put on the table. I think this is our best bet. It looks to be the most recent advert. By the way, for those I haven't introduced myself to, I'm Renalia Renhart, but you can call me Ren.
Meira, would you get my new friends some breakfast?
"Comin' right up," the halfling pipes, and sure enough within a few short moments three more plates are delivered, along with a mug of Orent's preferred. Meira takes a glance at the page the group has gathered around but doesn't pry, and shortly after delivering the food leaves them to their discussion to tend to other customers.
The young boy who had been waiting at the end of the bar is the first of these; Meira receives a large crate (for her and his size, anyway) from the cook and passes it to him in exchange for a small leather pouch. He then tugs on his gloves and hat before hefting the box and exiting the tavern.
Orent discretely removes the tea leaf holder from his mug and wraps it in a napkin. He then gets up and shakes the hand of each person at the two tables while introducing himself.
Thank you for the offer of breakfast. My name is Orent Jarmek. I'm new in these parts having arrived about a month ago. I been poking around in the local mines, but haven't found too much of interest as of yet.
I have heard tell of some mighty strange goings on 'round here, though. If you'r meaning to do some venturing, perhaps you could use some more hands?
Your friend is a beauty. Does he mind pettin? Oh, and this is Variel, Gunnar, and I'm Sindri.
Again, Odette looks surprised that anyone would speak with her and it takes her a moment to react. She looks down at Pierson, playfully eating the stewed meat in between rolling under the table.
"As long as you make no moves against me he will happily allow you to pat him. Sometimes I wonder if he is not part dog. At least until I remember him ripping a wolf apart in battle after it and 3 others attacked us one evening on our way home."A few seconds go by before she remembers herself and adds, "and I am Odette and he is Pierson in response to your introduction Sindri."
Gunnar and Orent
Given he has been in the area for some time and makes regular use of his services, Orent knows Orran Grimknuckle well. The old Glacier Dwarf is a retired ranger, a former member of the Sentinels (the defending force of Grendar), and now in his later years a breeder of fine canines as well as keeper of the kennel. An old wound, the cause of his retirement, prevents him from getting around much but he's generally to be seen about town in the evenings and is willing to share a tale or two of his old adventures around the fireplace at the Grizzly if someone is generous enough to buy him a drink. Though, perhaps curiously, he was not present the last few nights until quite late; perhaps due to the reason for the advertisement?
A high-pitched barking from behind the kennel's fenced yard is the first thing to catch the pair's attention as they approach; likely one of the latest batch of pups from the glimpses of grey and white fur they can catch through the slats of the wooden fence. The only other sound in the area is a steady knocking noise from somewhere behind the fence. Orran himself is nowhere in sight, but the carved wooden plaque hanging from a nail on the door does read "Open" and the door does not appear to be locked. A flickering lamplight shines through the shuttered windows.
------
Variel
Tathviel's shop is small, simple, and orderly. A single-room hut, perhaps enough for four or five people standing maximum before people start knocking elbows, with a bench and three shelves - potions on the left, alchemical items and supplies on the right, scrolls and magical trinkets in the back. Beyond the door a single curtain is all that cuts off viewing straight into the room. Daeronon Tathviel himself is a rather young-looking elf who is obviously not a native to these frozen lands: his skin is far too tanned, his hair far too dark, and he's bundled up in almost twice the necessary cold-weather clothing. A large lantern rests on the floor next to him behind the bench, as if he's using it as a small heater. At the time you enter he's closely studying a petri dish with some green flakes in it, an artificer's monacle pressed deeply into his left eye, and takes a few moments to look up and notice you after your arrival.
"Oh... good day saer, how can I assist you?" The absentminded-looking elf either forgets or does not consider it necessary to remove the magnifier from his eye.
------
Sindri
Though no one appears to be present at the shrine, the door is not locked or barred. The building is low in height and long on the outside, and constructed mostly of pale grey stone with a timber roof.
Like the alchemist's, Nerele's shrine is not very large inside and consists only of a single open room; a door in the back is closed and held with a small padlock, suggesting it likely leads to the young priestess's dwelling. Other than the symbol of Desna over the door, the small room - barely fifteen feet square - is devoid of markings, simply consisting of a generic altar, a small brazier, and a few censers for incense; neither of the latter two are currently lit, light in the room is provided by a small candelabra on the left side of the room, near the locked door. Only one of the three tiny candles is currently lit.
Orent knocks on the door, and then begins to open the unlocked door ahead of Gunnar. He calls out,
Orran, good friend, are you about?
Variel
Tathviel's shop is small, simple, and orderly. A single-room hut, perhaps enough for four or five people standing maximum before people start knocking elbows, with a bench and three shelves - potions on the left, alchemical items and supplies on the right, scrolls and magical trinkets in the back. Beyond the door a single curtain is all that cuts off viewing straight into the room. Daeronon Tathviel himself is a rather young-looking elf who is obviously not a native to these frozen lands: his skin is far too tanned, his hair far too dark, and he's bundled up in almost twice the necessary cold-weather clothing. A large lantern rests on the floor next to him behind the bench, as if he's using it as a small heater. At the time you enter he's closely studying a petri dish with some green flakes in it, an artificer's monacle pressed deeply into his left eye, and takes a few moments to look up and notice you after your arrival.
"Oh... good day saer, how can I assist you?" The absentminded-looking elf either forgets or does not consider it necessary to remove the magnifier from his eye.
"Oh, I have no need of assistance. I simply wished to meet the other practitioner of the fine art of alchemy in this town. I'm Variel, by the way. So, what is the going rate for basic alchemical supplies in these parts?", he says as he attempts to get a better look at the petri dish.
The gangly sorcerer has some difficulty keeping up with Orent's determined stride at first, but his sandals flicker with a surge of power and he catches up quickly, despite his armor. He enjoys a companionable silence for the rest of the walk. Upon arrival he finds the situation rather less than to his liking. Habits hard learned on the job rise quickly to the fore. Gunnar raises one arm toward the top of the fence, using his body as a path for his familiar to achieve the high vantage. While Loki looks down into the yard, Gunnar keeps an eye on his soulspark as it flies up 10ft and begins jockeying back and forth to maximize field of view. Gunner himself puts his back to the wall on Orent's off side, the better to see anything coming. Despite his watchful mein, Gunner still draws no weapon.
Gunnar and Orent
Gunnar's companions catch a bit of the yard beyond the fence and a better view of the source of the noise: at the sight of the ferret on top of the fence, a small husky puppy - likely only about two months old - begins yapping and hopping in a futile effort to reach the strange-looking, strange-smelling creature above it, tail wagging wildly as it bounds about the yard at the foot of the fence. A small handful more working dogs lounge or meander about the back of the yard, along with a scattered few more puppies about the same age or a few months older amongst them. The occasional arrival of a formerly-unseen dog suggests more around the back of the house. A few turn their attentions towards the fence at the puppy's sudden increase in activity, and many of the other puppies run over to join the investigation, quickly multiplying the yapping in the general area.
The soulspark's view is hindered by the house, but along with being able to see more dogs - mostly adults - on the other side along with a fair-sized pile of lumber against the back fence. The rapping noise seems to be somewhat clearer on that side, suggesting the source is closer to that end of the building.
Orent on the other hand heads directly inside. As he likely expected, there is little extravagance to Orran's dwelling, and the door to his personal chambers is shut; his "office" area is clean, organized, and simple, consisting of a low table and a few chairs as well as a desk with some parchment and ink and a locked drawer that serves as his safe. The back door, which leads out to the kennel pens and eventually to the back yard, is wide open and the rapping sound - from this position clearly the sound of hammering - is much clearer. It stops for a moment on Orent's shout and after a few seconds of silence Orran's voice calls back.
"Aye, Orent! Out back, do make yerself comfertable, I be in shortly!"
------
Variel
The material in the dish at first looks like flakes of stone or crystal but on closer examination is actually some kind of scaly lichen. You manage to identify it as a few dead flakes of Snowflake Lichen, a heat-draining magical plant that, when alive, resembles snow and entraps its prey via camouflage, numbing limbs and weakening reflexes.
"Oh, welcome to Jasper then fellow hermetecist," the merchant replies, at last plucking the scope from his eye with a rather perplexed expression, as if surprised it was still there. "Daeronon Tathviel, at your service." He then proceeds to point out the prices of anything in question, occasionally taking a moment to outline the uses of anything Variel seems unfamiliar with, occasionally opening shelf drawers or other storage spaces to produce another item for display.
------
Sindri
The place is quiet and soothing, somehow drowning out the bustle of Jasper coming to life and the trade city doing what it does best just mere meters beyond the doorway behind you. Neither the priestess nor anyone else arrives to interrupt your prayers. How long do you wait?
At the shout, Gunnar shrugs and heads inside nonchalantly. As his gaze roams the room his puzzled look fades to a quiet approval. An orderly home is the product of an orderly mind, or so he thinks to himself. Loki hangs back to tease the pups some more, but when his master goes to close the door, the ferret leaps down and runs back to him. Unable to be more than a few paces away without fading, the soulspark hovers nearby, its cool azure luminescence echoing the good mood of its shaper. Taking the kennelmaster at his word, the man of all trades takes his ease on a low seat where he can face the rear door.
Orent settles into another chair and waits patiently for Orran's entrance.
Orent and Gunnar
The wait is not long before Orran lumbers back into the building. The time between is occupied by a bit more hammering, the sound of lumber being shuffled about, the occasional bark or yelp of one of the dogs followed by Orran calling alternatively in Common and Dwarven, and at last the tell-tale sound of Orran's wooden cane on the walk just outside the door.
He's fairly typical, as one might expect of a Glacier Dwarf. His skin is somewhat paler than Orent's and weatherbeaten by years of active life in the tundra. His hair and beard are full despite his age, and a tawny brown in color streaked with lines of grey. He wears warm furs, likely wolf pelts, and leans heavily on his hand-carved cane due to a severe deformation of his left leg - the old wound that took him out of the Sentinels.
"Ghul glus Orent my friend, and hello to the gent in the alugiss as well. Orran Grimknuckle, at yer service." He pauses a moment to eye Gunnar's soulspark, then shrugs and gives a broad grin beneath his beard and hobbles over toward the desk to take his seat. He lights a pipe, offering spares and pipeweed to both his guests before opening the floor for business discussion and listening to Orent's questions and comments.
"Aye, yer dogs're good'uns, they be doin' well. They's in the pens if'n yer wantin' 'em now, I can bring 'em out if ye need."
His mood turns a bit somber at the mention of the notice in the Grizzly. He spends a few seconds simply puffing on his pipe silently before responding. "Good on ye fer comin' t' ask, Orent, I'll be owin' ye one if ye can do me a good turn 'ere. Ye as well lad," he nods once in Gunnar's direction. "I be sure you heard me bangin' about in th' yard as ye came in. The stolen goods be some of me best breedin' hounds... six total, counted the lot thrice. I be lucky, praise the gods, that all the pups be weaned an' that they did'na take more than that but I'll be needin' those girls back an' soon if I be plannin' on stayin' in business here."
Orent accepts the pipe and pipeweed from Orran, prepares the pipe, lights it and takes a puff or two before speaking.
Ghul glus, Orran. Then in common, Orent says That is terrible business 'bout yer dogs. First, let me introduce an acquaintance I made at the inn. His name is Gunnar. He and a group of men and ladies I met recently at the inn are looking for some work in this area. Any ideas who'd take them and when did this hap'n? We may be able to help.