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The town of Brindenford may be able to support three moderately sized taverns due to straddling two of the River Kingdom's main trade routes, The Queen's Road and the River Turant, as well as feeding from the wealth of explorers needing supplies to fund excursions into the famed nearby dungeon known as The Dragon's Delve, but any adventurer who makes his way to the town is directed to The Lost Shepherd. Whether searching for others to band with, talk to survivors of the dungeon(and those who claim to have ventured within), or even find an adventurer friendly merchant who has enough connections to facillitate the sale of treasures gathered by those brave enough to have entered the Dragon's Delve and returned with arms full of loot and their lives.
The sign over the door of the tavern shows a shepherd with a crooked staff but no sheep. Serving food and drink from lunch until the middle of the night, the Lost Shepherd has a small stable of regular customers and a crowd of adventurers that tends to grow until either they have the numbers or the drink to decide tackling the nearby dungeon is a good idea.
The main taproom of the Shepherd is large and open though even frequent repairs can't hide its age. There is a long bar along one wall with a hearth housing a crackling fire on another. Two sets of stairs rise out of the main room, one to a second story that serves as an inn, the other to a slightly raised loft with more private seating. Several doors beyond the entrance lead from the taproom, likely to storerooms. One stands open behind the bar, exposing the kitchen.
On this warm spring evening about a dozen people are settled around the taproom in one form or another. The bartender is a smiling middle-aged halfling who disapears behind the bar whenever he isn't standing on a crate to chat with a customer or the waitress or really anyone who will at least pretend to listen.
Through an open doorway behind the bar an ederly human works in the kitchen, moving swiftly between a wide variety of pots with suprising speed and competence. The person's form is shriveled, hunched and hirsute enough that beyond being unattractive its difficult even to determine their gender with a casual glance, though a closer look reveals her to be a matronly woman.
Sitting out of the way at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the rooms above is a tall and broad shouldered man whose hair is just starting to grey. He appears quite out of place in the tavern, dressed like a peasant rather than an explorer or merchant and his build certainly indicates he is a laborer.
A girl of perhaps twenty acts as a server and maid of the tavern, moving about constantly to clean any spills and ensure that everyone has anything they desire, even attentively keeping the mug of the laborer filled at all times.
Below the low hum of conversation is a constant muttering from a drunken dwarf, seated at a table just inside the entrance. Beyond being barely conscious the gray bearded dwarf seems to be rather out of shape though he is dressed like a warrior in banded mail and with a greataxe strapped across his back.
The final other person in the room is easy to miss if you aren't looking too closely. An old human sits on the edge of the hearth, leaning his back against the stone, the gray of his robe and hair blending with its surface. A glass of wine sits beside him, but the eyes that gaze out over the taproom are clear and intelligent.
Dotting for easy reference
Kathrine walks down one of the busier roads of Brindenford, her right hand carrying her Fauchard laid across her shoulder, the tip wrapped in training bandages. A backpack overstuffed with supplies and tools bites down into her well-muscled shoulder with a flowing but dirty cloak and hood clasped over it. Her braided blonde hair moves gently with the wind that blows over the town. Seeing a free standing market stall that currently smoked from a large rack of coals that burned ash white, Kathrine decides to move towards the man who wore an off white apron around a generous frame and sported a receding hairline.
The man spoke in a friendly manner as he saw Kathrine step up to the stall, ”Greetings traveler, would you be interested in a meat sandwich? They are quite hearty for young folk such as you.”
Kathrine shakes her head as she gives the selection of meat a passing glance, speaking in a measured tone, ”I am afraid not. I do however require a bit of information. Where would I go to find others like me? I am here for the Dragon’s Delve.”
The man’s smile faltered for a moment as he answers with, ”Ah! Well, then you are looking for The Lost Shepherd. I wish you luck traveler, you will surely need it if you plan on going to Dragon’s Delve.”
Kathrine nods her head in thanks as she steps away, ”Thank you Sir. I wish you a good day.”
Turning back to the road, Kathrine set out towards The Lost Shepherd, her eyes darting from left to right as she takes in the sights of the town. Eventually, she reaches the front door of the tavern, noticing the sign hanging over the door and chuckling softly as she reaches forward with her free hand and pushes the doors open. Stepping inside she feels the warmth of the hearth wash over her and the smell of food and old wood settling over her nose. Taking a quick look over the other patrons of the tavern, she settles down on a round table near the center of the room and slips her backpack off her shoulders and under the table. Resting her Fauchard on the table, Kathrine brushes a stray strand of hair from her eyes and looks about the tavern, raising her hand to wave over the waitress when she finally spots the woman who appears barely older than she is.
”Miss, if I may have the meal of the day, that would be wonderful.”
A damp, dusty figure emerges from the trackless wilds outside Brindenford, coming from a direction neither trade route goes. Once he had made his decision, he had started off as the crow flies, more content going through the back country than along a road bristling with highwaymen anyway.
The broad figure, cloaked and hooded, makes his way along the streets, moving with purpose and with just enough of an off-putting aura, for lack of a better term, that no-one seemed interesting in hawking their wares to him. It isn't long before he finds a familiar sight - the Lost Shepherd, an establishment he'd been in a time or two prior, and whose reputation he was well acquainted with.
He steps in and lingers at the threshold for a moment, pulling down his hood and surveying the scene. His gray skin, heavy brow, slight tusks, and overall feral features mark his race. After a moment, he strides briskly to an empty table near the hearth. He slides his pack off and sets it down, removes his cloak, and drapes it over the chair nearest the hearth and settles in to another.
He waits patiently, occasionally leveling his gaze at the blonde human with the polearm, the drunken sod of a dwarf at the door, and the man at the hearth. Eventually, the barmaid approaches him and asks if he needs anything. "Mug of whatever's cheapest," his voice rumbles quietly.
Upon receiving his drink, he nurses it. He knew what he wanted to do, but he wasn't exactly sure how to go about gathering a group to do it. He figured if he waited long enough, something would happen or someone would approach him, looking for the same fame, wealth, or escape from life he was.
And if the half-orc had one virtue, it was patience.
Zeldin easily found the place that Piven had directed him to. Piven's instructions had been clear. "Find people different than you for a trip to the Delve. You are not as tough as you think, so make sure you have some people who can take care of themselves in a fight. Also, remember that a good heart is worth significantly more than all the ability on earth. Anyone can learn anything except how to be a decent person."
So in the door he went, covered in his wild tattoos and his worn clothing, holding a spear like a staff, feigning slight weakness. Better to underestimated, than overestimated.
He took a moment to look around and was not particularly discrete. Who looked toughest... Surely not the old man by the fire, or the worker by the stairs.
Maybe the pretty blond woman with the Fauchard.
Or the dwarven warrior with the axe?
No, in the end he decided the person here he would least like to fight was the large man that had arrived just before him.
Sharp intake of air. fist clenched and then unclenched and then once again. Steeling his resolve, he strides over to the place Karth is sitting.
Hello, I am Zeldin Tarr, and I wonder if there is a place for one more at your table?
Buckwell walked in the taproom leaning heavily on his cane. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden gloom he looks over the main room. he limps over toward the hearth giving the old man there a slight nod as he stares deeply, longingly into the crackling flames.
"The priests mean well, but there is little more they can teach me about my powers. The time has come for me to see what I can see in the real world."
As he pulls his gaze from the flames he notices a human female sitting at a nearby table with an overly long scythe propped up next to her. As he hobbles over to the table he says "Good afternoon, m'lady. That is an unique weapon you have there. I have never seen it's like before. What does it do? How do you use it? Is it easy to learn?" his Gnomish eyes seems brimming with curiousity as he fires off his questions "May I sit here while we talk" he asks pulling out a chair before she has a chance to reply "Ahh, that's much better" he says as he leans his cane along side the table "One would think that after so many years one would get used to the pain. But I find it not to be so."
The half-orc blinks a couple of times, stares at the man, and starts a little as he realizes he's being impolite. He makes a sound that's half throat clearing, half cough, and nods. "Karth. You are... certainly welcome."
That was quick, he thinks to himself, staring at his table-mate. He takes a long pull from his ale to give himself time to think while having an excuse for not talking. Doesn't look like much of a fighter. Doesn't smell like a wizard. Maybe he's just out of his armor?
He opens his mouth to say something, realizes he hasn't really formed a question, leading the motion to look vaguely like he's smacking his lips. He takes another swig and looks towards Zeldin expectantly over the rim of his mug, hoping the other will take the first word.
Kend-Krid was frustrated, “Why am I wasting my time sitting around this inn?” he muttered to himself. But he knew the answer. He had arrived too late to catch the last band of Dragon’s Delve explorers, and had spent his time wandering around town inquiring about the Dragon’s Delve. There were some merchants boasting their products origins, second-hand tales and rumors, but finding someone who had actually been there remained out of his reach. Perhaps it was because he was so unaccustomed to dealing with townsfolk, but then again, everyone who had returned probably had somewhere better to be.
An increase in noise drifting up to the loft caught Kend’s attention. As he rose from his seat in the corner of the loft (which he had chosen because it was particularly dark) another patron, a regular he had seen around, choked in surprise. It seemed he had been overlooked, just as he had intended. The shifting grays and faded black of his attire had helped him meld into the shadow. Or the little man was simply intimidated by his size. Kend grinned at the man and strolled over to the edge of the loft and peered down into the rest of the taproom.
Several new faces where seated around, the influx of customers had caused the noise. “Perhaps they were a band of would be Delve explorer’s? No,” he thought, “they would be gathered together discussing their upcoming excursion. They haven’t just returned, there would be people swarming all over them.” Although it would appear that more people had come to test the Delve, Kend decides to learn a bit more. He heads down the stairs and sits at the bar ordering a drink. Eavesdropping on the newcomers’ conversation he awaits an opportunity to introduce himself.
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The serving girl smiles to Kathrine and nods her head "Of course, Miss. I'll fetch it straight away." With that said she turns and hurries back towards the kitchen, stopping on the way to flash a friendly smile at the half-orc who places an order. "An ale then? Simple enough, Sir."
She ducks back into the room behind the bar and when she comes back out a few minutes later holding a tray on her shoulder the bar has filled up considerably with several new arrivals. She hurries over, setting a mug of ale down before the half-orc and then turning and placing a plate covered with steaming forest vegetables and a large hunk of venison in front of the girl.
Standing between the tables, the girl glances from the tattooed man to the gnome. "Can I get either of you gentleman something?"
When the barbarian makes his way up to the counter the scraping sound of something being dragged is heard from behind the bar. It goes silent just across from the large man just before the halfling bartender pops up with a large smile across his face, interrupting his ability to evesdrop in peace. "Hi there, my big friend. Finally decided to come down and see old Judello face to face, eh? Probably couldn't resist the smells coming up out of the kitchen any longer, Taran is a good girl but when she gets busy sometimes she forgets to get the orders from the loft. Understandable that you'd not want to wait any longer, I make the best venison in... Well maybe the world! Adventurers come crawling back from the ruins with some hard won gold and do they go see a cleric to restore those missing limbs? No! They see Judello to fill their bellies!"
Having heard the inn was a gather place for would be Dragon's Delve adventurers, Errigal walks through the door of the Lost Sheppard and waits a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom, framed in the light from outside.
Errigal is tall and well built, standing just over 6' with thick muscles in his arms and legs. His brown hair is streaked blond from countless hours in the sun and his skin is deeply tanned and weathed for one so young. He has dark blue eyes that reflect his mood, clouding when in a dark mood and wrinking with amusement or good spirits when in a light mood.
Errigal's clothing is expensive, just a notch below what one sees nobles wearing, with finely polished leather boots and armor. He carries a scorpion whip at his side and daggers protrude from sheaths at his waist and legs.
Taking in the patrons, and marking some of them as possible adventurers, Errigal makes his way to the bar where he sits himself down while unstrapping his heavily loaded backpack.
"Excuse me good halfling, but I could use a draft of your finest ale."
The halfling efficiently serves up a mug of some dark liquid and Errigal takes it saying, "Thank you sir."
Turning from Karth, Zeldin smiles at the serving girl.
Smoked eel and potatoes sounds wonderful, if you have them. Maybe some apple juice with that? Or is there something that you would recommend?
Looking up from her relatively short revere after ordering from the waitress as a short middle-aged man hobbled over to her table, Kathrine was barely able to open her mouth in greeting before the excitable gnome sent a rapid fire series of questions at her. A slack jawed expression forms on her face for a few moments as she has never been talked to in such a fashion before. Fortunately, the waitress returned just in the nick of time to serve up a plate of freshly steamed vegetables and venison. Picking up her fork and knife with delicate but deliberate movements, she begins to cut into the venison as she answers the gnome.
”Greetings Sir, of course you may sit. I am afraid I do not know which pain you are referring to, but I do offer my sympathies. As for the weapon… well, I cannot say it was easy to learn how to use. My father trained me for many years before I was allowed to carry it. It is designed to be used in a peculiar manner. The blade is as sharp and cuts just as deeply as a glaive if you know how to work the curve, but allows for more control of the opponent.”
Taking a quick moment to lift the fork to her mouth and taking a bite of the venison, she chews properly, like her father taught her, before talking further.
”May I ask what brings you here friend? I have heard tell that The Lost Shepherd is the place to be if you wish to explore the Dragon’s Delve.
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As Errigal approaches the bar, the halfling leans in towards the barbarian before him, whispering as if they were good friends, though certainly loud enough to be heard. "My my, it looks like I turned my back and the Shepherd turned to high society, and me without my finery!"
When the order is placed, the halfling drops down behind the counter for a moment and pops back up with the requested ale. "We've got ale, wine and whiskey. I'm afraid the ale is all the same, but I did make sure your mug was extra clean!"
The serving listens carefully to Zeldin's order then glances towards the kitchen, answering in a quiet voice that is hard to hear over the din of the bar. "We can accommodate your request if you are feeling particularly bold, Sir, but I wouldn't recommend any seafood while Murla is cooking. She's capable enough, but..." She trails off and glances towards the bar for a moment to make sure the halfling is distracted, adding in a whisper accompanied by a smile that is surprisingly pretty for her plain features. "Perhaps if Juddelo was working in the back rather than distracted, however truthfully he's always distracted." No sooner do the nearly silent words come out, than a playful call rings from across the room. "Hey! I'm not distracted. I'm -busy-!"
The barkeeps cheery demeanor is infectious and Kend replies with a slight smile, “Well Judello, that venison sounds like the thing for me when you have a moment.”
Turning to look at the man who just joined him at the bar Kend asks “So, did you just arrive in town?”
Errigal smiles at Juddelo's barbs and raises his mug in the halflings' direction before turning to the tall dark haired man seated next to him, "Indeed I am, good man. I've come to Brindenford chasing rumors of this place called Dragon's Delve. Have you heard of it?" Errigal then holds out his hand to offer a handshake, "I am Errigal, whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?"
Kend turns and clasps Errigal’s hand with the reply, “I am Kend-Krid, in this place chasing rumors too and am here to explore the Delve. If the talk is true there are many rewards for those bold enough to claim them in those ruins, and I intend to gather to my own share. Unfortunately it is not a place to be ventured into alone and my kinsmen are far from here. You wouldn’t happen to be willing to venture into the ruins together, would you? This place is a gathering spot for those interested in exploring the place and you seem more than able for someone who isn’t a clansmen." Kend motions with his head towards the rest of the room behind them, "Perhaps some of these others would be interested in going as well.”
Karth sighs inwardly as the bar starts to fill up, relieved that it looks like a group will form without him having to scare it up, so to speak.
As activity erupts around him, Karth is content to lean back and let his senses take it all in. His keen ears pick up the word 'Delve' several times, and his initial assumption is confirmed. "Place filled up quick," he remarks to his companion. "And looks like they're all here for the same reason. You headed into the Delve too, uh, friend?" His voice keeps a low, even, slightly guttural tone, though his diction is just slightly off, betraying that speech isn't one of his strong suits.
His facial features are clearly orcish (despite the avatar), with slight tusks, a heavy brow, deep-set green eyes, and an overall wild, slightly feral visage. His skin tone is gray and his hair is short, black, and unkempt.
His clothing is defined by the drab green, stained cloak currently occupying one of the chairs at his table and the old, dingy studded leather that looks (rightly so) as though he never takes it off. Both are careworn and have clearly seen years of use and regular mending. The clothes under his armor are much the same as his cloak - the color of the woodlands and just as aged. His weapons - a greatsword and a longbow - are worn over his back and his quiver is on his hip.
What she is having then. Zeldin says to the server, motioning toward Kathrine.
Turning back to Karth, he suddenly realizes that outside of the advice to find those with good hearts, there was no way to determine who met that description here.
I am hoping to, if I can meet some like minded people to journey with.
silence
Well I suppose this is as good a place as any to stop before a trip below, Karth.
silence
Why are you making this trip to the delve?
Another moment of silence, though this time the half-orcs faced is clearly scrunched up and considering his words. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table.
"Need a change of pace. I've been up and down every river in the Kingdoms and on most of the roads. I've fought bandits off screaming would-be merchant princes and lead travelers safely around the worst patches this country has to offer. None of it's made a sight of difference, to my wallet or the world, so I figure this was the place to make my fortune or die tryin'."
He straights back up and shrugs. "Seems the Delve's a good place for both outcomes."
"Yes. A companion as sturdy as you would definitely make me feel more comfortable while venturing into the legendary ruins."
Errigal turns to scan over the tap room once again and hears the Delve mentioned by the half-orc and his tatooed companion as well as the blond woman and the gnome. "Others are talking about it. Let's go see if they would like to join us in an exploratory expedition."
Errigal grabs his mug and walks over to to the table where the half-orc and tatooed man are talking and addresses both of them, "I couldn't help overhearing your mention of Dragon's Delve."
Errigal motions to his companion, "That tall man there is Kend-Krid and I am Errigal. We're looking for others willing to join us in an expedition into the Delve. I have heard of great riches buried there and it would be prudent to venture into the Delve with competent companions."
"Karth," the half-orc responds, giving a curt nod to both men. It doesn't even occur to him to introduce his table-mate. "Certainly need someone to watch your back in there, so I hear. You think you need a sharp-shooter or an extra blade, I'm in, so long as we all get equal shares." He looks over to Zeldin and adds, "He was just asking about the dungeon too, so would that make four of us?"
Introducing himself does not occur to Zeldin either.
Zeldin simply nods, and then is unsure if this means he is in or not. He is is simply trying to ascertain the motivations of his compatriots.
Errigal nods to Karth, "A fair share isn't how things are normally done in the real world, but I am here for a fresh start." Errigal's smirk at saying that last part fades to a frown as he turns and looks into the fire.
He then continues, "I can be the lead attacker, distracting our opponents and doing some damage while Kend-Krid and Karth here do the real damage. I'm also a trapfinder, and I hear that at least some of the ruins are rumored to be trapped."
Errigal then looks to the tatooed human, "How about you? What skills do you bring to the expedition?"
Karth can't help but laugh at Errigal's comment on fair shares, a hearty, deep guffaw. "That is too true. It seems you and I are here for similar reasons." He nods as the man states his own worth, and then turns to Zeldin, curious as to what the tattooed man can 'bring to the expedition'.
My veins are filled with magic. You may also find my keen eyesight of use for spotting potential danger. I also know how to fight with this spear.
What do we know about the Delve?
Buckwell looks at the young blonde lady across the table from him "My name is Buckwell Burrowholm, Bucky to my friends. You can call me Bucky, if you like. I broke my leg when I was younger and it never healed right, despite all the priests could do for me. I came here because all the townsfolk have said that this is the place to go if you're looking for adventure. I'm looking for adventure. And you..."
Buckwell trails off as he looks at his dinner companion, his blue eyes brimming with curiousity.
Kend steps up to the table where Errigal has struck up a conversation with the others, “Even shares is fine by me. You probably know more about the place than me. I haven’t learned anything more about those ruins than the rumors that brought me here, of course people tend to go quiet around me. By the way,” looking over at the tattooed man, “what name do you go by?”
"I'm sorry to hear about your leg. I myself have suffered many broken bones though the priests have always been capable of patching me up afterwords. As to adventure... well, I do admit I have come here to explore Dragon's Delve. My father always told me stories about the place, and I want to see it for myself."
Taking a moment to pick up one of the vegetables, she realized that the tavern had very quickly filled up with people, seemingly even from the rafters as several tall men began conversing.
"I wonder if those men over there are like us, and seeking adventure, as you put it Sir?" Her tone questioning by the end, wondering how she should address the kindly gnome.
I am Zeldin Tarr. Why do people go quiet around you?
Zeldin asks in a way that seems much younger than his years.
Are the four of us enough, or should we seek others? What sort of specific preparations do you think we should make? Shall we leave in the morn?
I asked someone that once, he said it was because my height and face were so intimidating... As far as whether or not four of us are enough, I've heard that the ruins are pretty hazardous, so a few more people couldn't hurt.
Errigal studies Zeldin for a moment, "Magic eh? That's always useful."
He then turns to Kend-Krid and nods and then addresses everyone at the table, "I agree, a few more couldn't hurt. I overheard the lady and the gnome mention the Delve, maybe they would be interested."
While you check with them, I will see if the man by the fire has any interest.
Zeldin stands and walks toward the man and when he is several paces away says, Hello, I am Zeldin Tarr. I have a question for you if you have a moment. Without waiting he asks Are you coming from the Delve, or going to it, or are neither of these guesses correct?
"More th' merrier," Karth mumbles. He continues staring contemplatively into his nearly-empty mug, figuring the well-dressed fop will continue to assemble the party.
As Buckwell looks around the room, he notices a group of men looking in his direction. Turning to his amazonian companion he says "Looks like there are others interested in us" and as Errigal approaches the table he continues "and here comes one of them now.
Kathrine looks up, following Buckwell’s gaze as a man approaches the table. The man’s features were so strikingly similar to her self that she forgot her manners for a moment and stared. The same dark blue shade colored his eyes and his skin was tanned much like hers, though darker. Realizing what she is doing, she quickly closes her mouth and smiles up at the man. Taking in the man’s fine clothing she wonders if she is about to talk with a man of station.
”Greetings Sir, please sit. How may we help you?”
Somewhat amused at the woman's reaction to him and surprised at her formality, Errigal gives a bow and says, "Good evening m'Lady, my name is Errigal DiMidio. Pleased to meet you."
Errigal then takes a seat at the table, "Some random strangers," Errigal stops here and points back to the table he just left, then continues, "and I were talking about this place called the Dragon's Delve. It turns out that we've all heard rumors about the treasures and the dangers it may contain, so we thought we should team up."
Errigal pauses here to take a drink from his mug of ale, then says, "We feel we could use one or two more bodies to assist us and I couldn't help overhearing you two mention the Delve a short time ago."
Errigal lowers his voice a bit at this point, "I'm not sure who can be trusted, but the more of us that band together, the less likely one will betray the others. If either of you are willing we'd like to have you along - assuming you bring some type of adventuring skills to the table. So far we have mostly muscle, but the tatooed fellow claims to know some magic and the half-orc says he's some type of sniper."
Kend watches as Errigal approaches the other two new faces and introduces himself, decides that he can handle the recruiting, and then heads back to the bar where the venison he ordered is growing cold. The next time he has Judello’s attention he says, “Looks like I didn’t have to wait here too long for more adventurers to show up, we will probably head out to the ruins tomorrow unless one of them has reason to delay. But rest assured, I’ll be back for more of this meat.” With that said Kend takes a hearty bite. After a few seconds of chewing, swallows and chases it down with some ale and then inquires, “So, at least some of these folk will probably want to stay the night… how are you doing on vacant rooms?”
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Judello grins at the barbarian when he returns to the bar, nodding to him. "Oh, certainly, Sir. Adventurers show up here and head for the dungeon faster than we can dig holes to put them in! But on your own two feet or clawing up through the dirt, you wouldn't be the first who couldn't wait to get back for my fare."
He chuckles for a moment, pleased with his own joke before he looks around the tavern as if taking a head count. "Sure, there is plenty of room for you lot upstairs. We've got separate housing for the staff so that doesn't take up any space. Erlan there..." He gives a meaningful nod at the drunken dwarf who is now snoring rather than muttering, with his head balanced precariously on his mug "Will likely sleep there like he does every night. -I- certainly am not going to carry him upstairs and if I rolled him out with the trash the Shepherd would probably close down for loss of business."
"As for Felgar..."He glances at the old man who still sits silently against the hearth, still watching all the happenings without a word "I don't know where he sleeps. Or if he sleeps at all for that matter. All I know is that he doesn't leave much coin here."
With that said, the elder man pushes up to his feet, though he has a slight smile on his face. When his speaks his voice is surprisingly smooth for his wizened frame. "I can hear every word you are saying, you know, and I think I pass more than enough business your way, thank you. Now if you are quite through badmouthing me, I think it is time I introduce myself."
Moving with a slow gait, the man makes his way to the bar, looking to Kend-krid and then to the others, speaking to them all with the practiced air of a sales pitch. "I have watched you all since your arrival in this tavern, much as I have watched many explorers in the past. You seek the treasures of the Dragon's Delve, for each your own reasons. I tell you this though, if you wish to explore the perilous depths and if you survive, you will have no better friend than Felgar. I am a man of... connections you may say. I have spent time among some of the greatest merchant trains and in the largest markets of all Golarion. I know the fences just as I know the collectors. Should you find the treasures you seek, I am the man who can turn it to riches you can retire on or a blade that will bolster your arm against the beasts that dwell deeper within the dungeon. I believe that you will find my service most invaluable."
Giving Errigal a smile, which stretches the scar along her left cheek slightly, Kathrine takes a sip of her drink as she listens. Nodding her head slightly as she answers with, "I too overheard pieces of your conversation with the others. I have a great desire to explore Dragon's Delve and would welcome the company of more people. While I cannot speak for Mr. Buckwell here, I must admit I have never been adventuring before, but I do have some skill with my weapon here."
Kathrine gestures towards the Fauchard leaning against the table.
"As for trusting people, well, if we are to explore the Dragon's Delve together, which by all accounts is an extremely dangerous place, then it would seem trust should be built yes? I do not know how such things are done in other parts of the world, but in my home town among the militia, we tested each others skill in combat to earn each others trust."
Taking a moment to have another bite of her venison, she opens her mouth in preperation to speak once again when she is suddenly interrupted by the wizened man with a slow gait, who stood before the assembled room and gave a short speech on the acumen of his trading skills.
When the man is finished, Kathrine derisively states under her breath for only her table to hear, "Or I suppose we could boast at each other for awhile."
Karth keeps an interested eye (and ear) on the woman's table. He catches just enough of the conversation to surmise that trust is being discussed, and he can't help but sigh inwardly. Trust is built. Earned. I cannot expect a short conversation and an agreement to stride into danger to overcome appearances. Or common sense. In truth, the half-orc realizes he had deluded himself; he had thought that anyone crazy or desperate enough to go into this dungeon would at least be true to their word.
He turns to look at Zeldin. That one struck him as the type that would struggle to hurt a fly. He might cause trouble, but not out of malice. The woman and the gnome seemed amiable enough, but that was a first impression. The other two... Time would tell.
When Felgar gives his speech, he realizes how obvious it was. The man was a fence, and as long as he had been on one side or the other of that business, he should have realized it.
He drains the last of his ale and waits to see if anything else of import happens now that the matter seems to be settled.
Felgar, you seem to be a man of no small experience. What know you of the Delve? What things lie at the start? Helping us now can only result in a more profitable relationship later after all. he says with a wide smile.
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Felgar returns the tattooed man's smile. "Ah, a wise man you are to use all avenues you can to discover what you are about to step into. Unfortunately, I have never been to the dungeon myself. I was far beyond the age that more brash actions appealed to me before I set foot in this town and most of the tales I hear are of dangers that no longer pose a threat, what beast was slain to claim a prize and such."
"Erlan, the dwarf, has actually been within the dungeon, at least according to him. He tells many fantastical stories, when he's conscious anyway. Some of his stories aren't so... Well believable. I don't know how much to attest to him wanting to bolster his own legend and how much is simply that by this point it must be mead running through his veins. I've long since given up on trying to harvest any sell-able information from him."
The old man considers for a moment before adding "Perhaps I can be of some small help to you, though it doesn't hold much in the way of specifics. A group that calls themselves the Bestial Host has been causing trouble in the area lately and you should probably watch out for them. Raiding caravans, disrupting loggers, just generally being a nuisance. From what the sheriff has said in his warnings to merchants, it seems to be a bunch of goblinoids along with a few deformed humans that would likely have been outcasts from smaller villages. Many of those killed by guards have had symbols of Lamashtu on them or marked on their skin, though that could be just because most of their kind follow her. I mention them because several of the last expeditions have spoken of run-ins with their kind. Its very possible that they have set up camp near or even inside the entrance of the dungeon. Be on your guard and return with your packs full."
Goblins arn't too much of a threat. Depends how many of them there are, but usually they don't have much worth taking either. We might stop by and see this sheriff before we depart... get some more detailed information and find out if there is some kind of reward for taking care of them. I'll bring it up with the others later, my stomach won't be ready for trouble tomorrow if I keep interrupting my meal. Besides the sheriff is probably home for the evening, don't want disturb the local authority's peace and quiet when we can just as easily talk to him in the morning.
Thank you for that bit of wisdom. It is always best to know what you might face.
Turning back to the group Zeldin asks Shall we start first thing in the morning? Are there any last minute things anyone needs to do before then?
"I think we should talk to the sheriff about this so called Beastial Host before we depart in the morning, he might be able to give us more information about them. How long do you think we'll be gone? I may have to pick up some rations on the way out of town"
Listening to the old mans story of the Bestial Host, Kathrine reaches up to the scar on her left cheek. Rubbing the scar tissue at the temple just behind her left eye she remembers the phantom pain of her first run in with a goblin. A nasty creature riding a large goblin dog and wielding a wickedly sharp dog slicer.
Looking over towards the sleeping dwarf, who rested precariously over his mug, Kathrine stood up from the table with Errigal and Buckwell, and spoke to her new companions for a moment, "I would not have any issue with starting in the early morning, and talking with the Sheriff certainly sounds like a wise decision. Perhaps it would be best to seek advice from the dwarf. Any information is better than none. We will just take it with a grain of salt."
With that she pushes in her chair and makes her way over to the dwarf, taking her Fauchard with her though she leaves her backpack under the table. Careful not to upset the dwarf, she sits down at his table and gently nudges his shoulder.
"Erlan, wake up. You should not sleep like this." A measure of concert is writ on her features, as the dwarf reminds her of her father, who used to pass out over a strong drink in much the same way back at her home.
Errigal listens to the conversation for awhile, perhaps thinking about the issues of trust or what might lie in the Delve's depths. As the newly formed group seems to come to decision on when to depart, Errigal nods to Kend-Krid, "Talking with the sheriff makes sense before we depart in the morning.
Interested in what the dwarf might say about the Delve, Errigal then follows Katherine as she goes to the dwarf and tries to wake him up.
Karth drains his mug and stands up. "I agree, we should see the Sheriff." Unable to articulate his reasons, he decides to leave it at that.
Seeing that the group is going to inquire of the dwarf, he makes his way to the table and leans against the wall nearby. He'd dealt with the type - the drunk, the boisterous, and the drunk and boisterous - and figures the softer types might need his assistance.