The thri-kreen stands to his astonishing full height, second only to Raun. He opens the cloak he shades himself with to reveal what few items he has strapped to his lithe form. Aside from the staff in one hand and the crystalline objects affixed to his head, his torso is a strange criss-cross of finely-woven giant's hair cords and oiled leather straps holding several crystals, four waterskins, a bag of rations, and pots of salve. From his aarakocra-feathered belt hangs a pouch with a laughable sum of silver and ceramic coins.
"Your cooperation is appreciated," the guard captain says as Grit, Daina and Nnn'tkklik'l submit to being searched and tested. He waits to see if the others will comply, but continues talking to the first three.
"We can't be too careful these days. More and more caravans have been coming through since Kalak's death. Since slavery was outlawed in Tyr, this is about as far as the slavers go. They sell what they can here or head north to Urik or the Ivory Triangle, which is a longer journey than most are willing to make. The merchant houses have even started hosting gladiatorial matches - the new quarter east of the barracks houses an arena."
"Of course, Kalak's death sent his defiler minions scurrying for cover, too. We've hanged three in the past month, not counting former templars trying to make do with stolen wands and potions."
The guard captain stops to see to the distribution of the water Grit conjured, then takes a long gulp from his own waterskin.
"I appreciate the water gift - we don't get many druids passing through the trade town. Now, give me an idea of your business in Altaruk and I'll see if I can't give you some directions and send you on your way."
Raun unslings her pack, allowing it to thud to the ground in front of her. She makes no move to interfere with the search, but neither does her expression change significantly.
The thri-kreen says nothing to the guard, comfortable with the fact that most soft-skins assume 'kreens have little to say. When the search is over, he hunches back down to his standard pose, and covers his body with the cloak.
Woki opens up the stomach-bag for inspection for the brave guard ready to feel around in the Halfling's prizes and 'rations'. For the test, Woki will call to the spirits to light the way as several balls of light spring into existence and float around the head guard's head.
Gorkhan smiles allowing the guards to search his person. "Don't mind their gruff nature. Time spent on the dry roads worrying about defilers can do that to you. Actually, we're looking to visit your governer, Arisphistaneles. I'm sure he's a busy man, so we'd appreciate it if you could let us know the process in order to seek an audience with him. Although he's an old friend, we don't want to deviate from your normal procedure for this kind of thing."
<How much should we trust this man. Could he be approached later for information?> he mentally asks his friends.
Speaking to the guard he says I am called Grit, which is a fine name for a Mul I think. Might I have your name?
"I am called Akros," the guard captain says, extending his hand to Grit in a warrior's handshake."I don't blame you for feeling a little rough-edged after traveling through the wastes - but I find it good practice to remind travelers to shake off some of that attitude along with the dust as they pass through the gates."
"As for meeting with the governor, you should give your names to the stewards at the old keep and tell them you wish an audience," Akros says. It's difficult to tell if believes Gorkhan's story or is merely playing along. "I know he is often busy dealing with the merchant houses, but if you are old acquaintances I am sure he will make time to see you. Now, do you have the funds to pay the gate tax?"
You hand Akros the pouch of gold coins Krysta gave you back in Tyr - one gold piece for each of you and another four to pay the entry fee for your kanks.
"Very good." Akros nods to his guards and gestures toward the gate. "You'll find stables to your left as you enter. The cost of keeping a kank for a day is two ceramic pieces, although usually you can negotiate a lower rate if you are willing to pay for several days in advance."
"To your right you will find The Four Bits, Altaruk's only tavern and inn. The innkeep, Gelrade, charges half a silver a day, which includes two meals and half a dozen drinks. If your thirst extends beyond that, most drinks are 4 bits. If you plan to stay more than a few days, you may be able to secure cheaper accommodations by renting space in another resident's home - ask around among the launderers in the market if you want to know what's available."
"If you need something else, feel free to ask a guard. We're paid well to help foster commerce here."
Wondering still about the trustworthiness of the guard Grit moves into the town wide eyed. <What makes this place to so wonderful as to demand a gold coin for each person to enter? >
<<Approach to seek an audience with their leader, as Krysta had told us to do, will be public knowledge, whether we state it here or lie about it. And the lie could get us into other trouble. We need not mention the reason behind all this, of course,>> Gorkhan mentions, replying to Grit's last question before replying to the next. <<I suppose we'll find out. Shall we stop off at the inn first?>>
"Only rich people can pay. Keep beggars outside gate." Raun mumbles as they walk along, looking around to see if her assumption is correct. She simply nods to Gorkhan's suggestion.
"Thank you for everything, that should be good for now." Daina gives the guard a warm smile and moves to go inside the city.
The thri-kreen remains silent, leaving the investigation to those better suited to the life between walls.
The noise of the fortress town crashes over you as you emerge from beneath the wall. Immediately ahead, a tent city of market stalls fills the main courtyard. Traders of all types haggle loudly while scantily clad men and women beckon passers-by into silk tents with promises of less material services. Although predominately human, you spot a number of dwarves and what must be half a tribe of elves among the crowd, along with a handful of more exotic races. Mercenary guardsmen, armed the same as those manning the walls, wander through the crowd.
Along the western edge of the market, a row of more permanent storefronts and businesses can be seen. To the south, beyond the market, a tall keep rises. At its core is a wide tower that appears to have been carved from a single block of granite. Chipped and worn, it is of a style associated with the ancients, while the additions have clearly been damaged and rebuilt several times.
The Four Bits lies directly to the west as you enter. The two-story inn is wide and simply constructed. Like many of the other structures, it is built right against the wall - judging from the number of people jostling for space in the town, you guess that many of the structures actually extend into the wall or boast extensive basements to provide adequate housing.
Nnn'tkklik'l volunteers to stay outside and watch your kanks while the rest of you move inside the inn. Raun is forced to duck through the door, but the interior is built at just the right height to allow her to stand fully upright. The place is worn but clean, with fresh sand spread on the floor and polished hides stretched across the bar and tables. The inn appears to be doing a brisk business, even at midday, with about several dozen patrons at the bar or dining at tables around the common room.
A sour-faced woman scrubbing mugs behind the bar scowls as you enter. "Drinks are four bits if you're only here to quench your thirst, or half a silver for a night's lodging, meals included. Two silvers for the half-giant, and she'll have to stay downstairs in the common room."
She looks at you impatiently as she waits for an answer. Most of the other patrons ignore you, although a few study you curiously. Of those, you take note of:
* a pair of guards eating at a nearby table
* a scarred dwarf drinking alone at the bar
* a woman and two men, obviously fresh from the desert, playing cards
* an elven bard tuning a small lute in the corner.
Meanwhile outside, Nnn'tkklik'l soon finds himself surrounded by a mob of small children, who poke and prod the kanks and barrage the thri-kreen with a seemingly endless stream of questions and requests.
"Does your shell itch?" "Can I have that feather?" "What's in your bag?" "Can you talk?" "Gimme a coin, I'm hungry." "I smushed a bug and it smelled funny. What do you smell like inside?" "For two bits I can get my sister to kiss you." "Where'd you come from?" "Does your mother think you're ugly?"
Grit wil move to the bar and sit near the dwarf there. A room and a drink for me. And a meal as well, as I have not eaten today. turning to the dwarf he says. What is good here friend?
Nnn'tkklik'l, disgusted by the pink-skinned younglings but unable to do much about them, creaks out "I talk. Don't poke kanks. They can stomp you. No itch. No feather. No bag. No smell. No kiss. Come from wastes. No mother like your kind. Thrikreen mother have many eggs."
Woki notes that the Four Bits is designed for a scale much taller than your average halfling as the shaman looks up at the edge of the bartop overhead. Small fingers clutch the lip as Woki clambers up until the woman behind the bar can see the halfling's face (or what little can be seen behind the mop of hair, "Tall one offer tree nectar?"
Gorkhan nods. "A room and meal for certain, and something to wash the sand out of my throat."
Daina takes silent note of the people watching, trying not to make it obvious that she's aware of their awareness. She puts on a friendly smile, but doesn't overdo it; she senses the woman doesn't care for being over-flattered. "My companions and I intend to be staying for quite a bit. There is all of us you see here as well as one more - normal sized - outside. Is there any chance we could arrange some sort of agreement considering the duration of our stay?"
The innkeeper, Gelrade, considers Daina's request for a moment, mentally calculating sums. Her scowl lessens slightly and she shrugs.
"I'll take four silver a night for the lot of you, if you agree to take your meals together - saves effort for the cook," she says. "Pay for five nights in advance and I'll give you the sixth and seventh on the house."
Her scowl deepens again as she turns to Woki peeking over the bar. As he makes his request, a sand louse leaps from his matted hair to the countertop.
"There's plenty of fresh sand in the back if you'd care to scrub before you eat," she says as she pours a glass of sour cactus wine for the thirsty spirit-talker.
She pours a second mug for Gorkhan as he studies the elven minstrel in the corner. The elf plays well, but Gorkhan suspects the musician's fingers are used to deadlier work - the tips are stained black from preparing poisons.
The elf looks up quickly when Gorkhan taps a certain cadence on the bar. He nods, almost imperceptibly, then glances toward the side door. He plays another short tune, then sets his lute aside and makes a show of heading outside to relieve himself.
Grit, meanwhile, settles in next to the grizzled dwarf, who grunts when the mul asks about the food.
"Some say the z'tal skewers'll melt in your mouth," the dwarf says, shoveling a spoonful of rice mash sprinkled with some sort of ground meat into his mouth. "But if you're gonna spend your day breaking rock, this'll keep you swinging the hammer longer."
Grit notices that the dwarf's hands are bleached white with lime and his arms bear numerous nicks and cuts from splintered rock.
Outside, Nnn'tkklik'l senses through the collective that the other members of the clutch sate there thirst and hunger. The nattering of the small man-thing's continues unabated.
"Do you eat people? I know where you can get some. They got lots of dead bodies from the fights." "My leg hurts." "What are them sticks on your head?"
"I eat people sometimes. Not long-dead ones. You. Leg hurt? Let me see."
Sensing the others are eating and drinking, the kreen briefly thinks of his own bodily needs, but doesn't want to eat in front of them and hear their begging. <<Save meat for me. I eat later.>>
Sounds a reasonable deal. Grit comments to Daina's bargaining. I say we take Gelrade up on the 7 night deal. And we should go and board the Kanks so Nnn can join us for a meal. Turning to the dwarf he continues the conversation. The town is lucky to have a sturdy dwarf helping them with their expansion. I suppose you lead the effort? Dig up anything interesting so far? And any troubles with the project? Gelrade, me and me friend here will have another round, on me of course.
Daina smiles, a very sincere one. "Completely reasonable, we have a deal." Daina makes sure everything is payed for, then goes outside to get Nnn.
Woki grins at the woman and plucks the sand louse from the bar before eating the parasite with an audible crunch, "No need. This one bring app... appeiti... food that ate before other food." The halfling takes the cactus wine and takes a sip that causes a puckering of lips before Woki is able to swallow it down.
Nnn'tkklik'l's comment about eating people sends several of the children running off, screeching. Others soon grow bored and wander away, as well. The wounded boy lingers, slowly approaching the thri-kreen.
"You ain't gonna get hungry and eat me, are you?" He seems nervous, but comes close enough that Nnn'tkklik'l can see a long gash on the side of one leg has become infected. Dark streaks radiate from the wound - the boy is likely to be dead in a week if it isn't treated.
Inside, Daina finishes her business with the innkeeper as Grit continues his conversation with the dwarf.
"Me? I'm not the big boss, just a foreman. Came over from North Ledopolus with a crew that got tired of dodging giant attacks. Here they only get a real serious raid every year or two, 'stead of every week."
He swallows another mouthful of rice before continuing.
"Course, Altaruk's been knocked down enough times that digging's a chore, what with all the old foundations and basements. Usually they just fill 'em up with rubble, but we've found a few that were intact enough to re-use. There's a whole network of tunnels underneath that new arena, some of 'em running up to connect under the barracks, too. The governor had us clear them out then seal 'em up with new doors. Keep the riff-raff out until they're needed for storage or hiding out."
"We're building a new quarter in the west now, if you're looking for work. Can always find a place for someone with a strong back."
Daina comes outside to see the little boy with Nnn, making her pause and watch silently for the moment.
The kreen eyes the boy silently for a few moments, studying the wound and making estimates based on his height and weight. "I no eat infected meat. Can fix leg. Be still. Don't tell others or I eat you."
Grit listens attentively to the dwarf, glad that he is in a talkative mood. These tunnels, they might serve as a place for someone to hide in, yes? You see I am looking for a man I have heard is hiding about here somewheres. Likely a man and a woman. I hear tell they are defilers. If so I mean to root them out and expose them for what they are.
After the appropriate amount of time Gorkhan slips out after the bard. <<Going to see if I can find out more through other means...>>
The boy watches in astonishment as Nnn'tkklik'l cleanses and seals the wound with a thought. He stands for a moment, testing his weight on the leg, then abruptly grabs one of the thri-kreen's arms and squeezes tightly.
"Thanks mister. You're not so bad," the boy says, before running after the other urchins and disappearing into the market throng.
Gorkhan catches a glimpse of the interaction as he heads out the door and around the corner of the inn. The elf waits outside, rolling a wad of some herb into a thin piece of cactus leaf and lighting it with a glowing wick. He wait expectantly for Gorkhan to make the first move.
Inside, the dwarf stonemason scoffs at Grit's mention of defilers.
"In Altaruk? They'd never make it past the gate. Word is the governor's got some friendly magickers that don't drain the land watching out for them that do," the dwarf says, before a look of concern causes his bald scalp to wrinkle in thought.
"I don't like the idea that someone might stumble in there - the tunnels are twisted and like as not they'd get lost and not find their way back out. Maybe I'll send some men in tomorrow to check and make sure everything's secure, then ask one of the local priests to put a ward on the doors," he says. "Now you've got me thinking about it, I won't sleep tonight."
A sour look crosses his face, before he shrugs and pushes away his empty plate. "Not that you're to blame."
The dwarf extends a hand as he slides off his seat. "Good to meet you. If you decide to seek work building the walls, tell them Havvel told you to do it."
Daina comes up to Nnn, giving him an approving hand on the shoulder and a warm smile. "That was a nice thing you did. We're getting ready to eat, let's get the mounts situated and get you something to eat."
"Tough world for the younglings. Tribes inside walls seem not to help."
Gorkhan looks around to make sure they were unobserved. Even so, he keeps his words fairly generic for the moment.
"I didn't want to step on any toes while I am visiting. Is there any person or place I should be sure to avoid due to ongoing deals? At least avoid in a 'professional' sense that is."
Grit shakes the dwarves hand. And you Havvel. it might be I could be hired on to help once I put this other task to rest. Do be careful in them tunnels you mentioned. No telling what you might find down there. Its likely that they run outside the walls too, so someone might could use them to gain access to the town without passing past the gates with their test for defilers.
With that thought planted in the dwarf's mind Grit looks about to see if anyone else currently in the tavern might be worth a word.
Woki motions the cup of drained cactus wine at the bartender for a refill and then takes the large cup, at least for a halfling, over to Raun. The halfling holds the cup toward the half-giant, "Taste okay, tongue wince but good. Try."
The elf smiles at Gorkhan's question. "Well, the governor's not one for making deals - keeps his hands clean, that one. And any deal that involved him would lead to ... complications, to say the least. A few of the merchant houses can be tricky to deal with, especially Tsalaxa. But business here is mostly of the run-of-the-mill variety. What were you looking for? Did a job bring you here?"
Inside the inn, Grit sees that the guards no longer are paying much attention to the newcomers. The woman playing cards continues to steal glances at him and the others, however. Seeing him looking back, she doesn't avert her gaze but gives the mul and appraising look and gestures to the empty seat at the table.
The 'kreen helps Daina get the mounts set up and then goes in for some meat.
Raun eyes the innkeeper grumpily, not well pleased at the woman's tone, or manner. As Woki drops from the bar and offers her a cup she takes it and downs it in one gulp.
"'m gonna go look at Arena." Raun mumbles, making for the door, and ducking her way out. Heading east she is somewhat puzzled as to how to reach the new triangular district, since the way seems blocked by a row of buildings, and so sidles up to a market stall to ask directions. "How I get to Arena area?" she asks, squinting at the operator.
"There's no games for another two days," the merchant says without looking up, his hands busy filling small pouches with the dried cactus buds the local mercenaries like to smoke. He is clearly startled when he looks up from his work and sees Raun towering over his stall.
"Er, sorry, madame. Didn't mean to be short. No matches are scheduled until the day after next, but I'm sure you could go take a look at the arena if you want. The tunnel over there passes beneath the guard barracks near the north wall."
As Raun departs, she hears the man talking to another customer.
"Whew. They'll have an even bigger slaughter than last week if they let her into the ring. That mul champion from Balic was bad - he killed 13 other gladiators before they took him down - but she looks worse."
Raun purses her lips in thought for a moment then nods. "Thanks for helping." she murmurs lumbering off in the direction of the tunnel indicated. She pauses as the stall worker starts to talk about a previous match, glancing over her shoulder but gets moving again when he finishes the remark, not upset about his comment.
"There is a certain individual we are looking for, who may happen to be in the area. As a professional courtesy, if you happen to come across them and can let us know, without them finding out... Of course, we can certainly make it worth your while," Gorkhan mutters to the elf.
Assuming the bard is amenable, Gorkhan describes Dote Mal Payne and any sycophants they know about.
Inside the inn, Grit sees that the guards no longer are paying much attention to the newcomers. The woman playing cards continues to steal glances at him and the others, however. Seeing him looking back, she doesn't avert her gaze but gives the mul and appraising look and gestures to the empty seat at the table.
Putting on his best Mul smile, Grit ambles over to the woman and, not wanting to interrupt watches the game for a moment before speaking. Greetings m'lady. I do not know this game. Might I sit and watch it played?
As the game permits Grit will introduce himself and ask the lady's name and position here in the town.
While the others are chit-chatting their respective leads, Woki will wander out of the tavern and see if there are any other halflings living about the town. At least with a fellow halfling, the shaman was likely to hear the true goings-on around the outpost.
Continuing toward the massive barracks building, it doesn't take long for Raun to locate the tunnel the merchant mentioned. It's wide but only about seven feet tall, obviously excavated and reinforced after the barracks above it. Stooping, she passes beneath, drawing only curious looks from the guards posted on the market side.
Emerging once again into the sunlight, she climbs the wooden steps into the stands, allowing her to look down into the arena itself. She smells old blood and ozone, but neither is as strong as it was in Tyr's grand arena. The arena itself isn't much larger than the training pits Raun remembers from Urik. The only entrances to the arena floor are a pair of gates on opposite sides - it looks like whatever tunnels worm through this quarter must come out somewhere else, because Raun doesn't see a visible entrance anywhere nearby.
Movement catches her eye as she spots an old beggar beneath the stands on the other side of the arena. Shading his head with an old scrap of cloth, the man seems to be trying rather unsuccessfully to draw a last drop of water from his waterskin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~0~~0~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside the inn, the elf minstrel nods as Gorkhan offers a description of Dote Mal Payne and his female apprentice.
"Hmm. The tall one does not sound familiar, but the female strikes a chord. I think I recall hearing of a strange woman asking after obscure spell components in the market last week. If I'm not mistaken, she was said to have been traveling with a different man, though - a bald half-elf, chalk-white skin covered in tattoos," the elf says. "If you'd like I can check with some of my contacts, see what became of them."
The elf stands, waiting, one hand extended nonchalantly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~0~~0~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The woman at the gambling table flashes white teeth at Grit as he sits down.
"The most important rule is you have to wager. As long as you follow that, you'll be a welcome companion," the woman says, dealing out fresh hands to everyone at the table. "It's a simple game, as long as you can bluff better than Jezzek, here. After the week we spent in the desert, the brains in these two are too cooked for something that requires counting past their fingers. Me, I know well enough to wear a hat."
The woman flashes another smile at Grit - judging from the way the dirt has cracked on her face, it looks like something she does often.
"So tell me, what wind has blown you into Altaruk? Is it trade you're after? I can tell you the culture leaves something to be desired, although the companionship isn't altogether lacking."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~0~~0~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Uninterested in watching the tall one mating rituals, Woki downs another mug of the tall one tree sap before teetering out of the tavern to search for civilized company.
He spends a few minutes poking around the marketplace, where several people, presumably guilty and afraid of punishment by the air spirits, do their best to avoid him, while one even throws some scraps of nicely aged erdlu gizzard at Woki as he passes.
Eventually his nose picks up the faint but familiar smell of boiling grall root. Following it, he soon finds himself in front of a small market stall where a wizened figure stoops over a pot of bubbling blue liquid, dipping carved bone arrows into the toxic stew.
The stooped halfling jabs one of the arrowheads toward Woki when it notices him standing nearby.
"Don't even think about stealing my man-herd, wild one! I've been feeding off these stupid tall ones for three long suns and they still don't know I'm hunting. The tall ones give me half a jankx each to put slow-juice on their arrows, and I don't even have to dig the grall root myself. They're so stupid, sometimes I think I'll eat a few just to put them out of their misery."
As the poison-making halfling jabbers, Woki realizes he isn't as ancient as the first thought, just twisted from a poorly-healed back injury.
Raun gives the so-called arena a disapproving study, the simple structure paling in comparison to the ones she has seen in Urik and Tyr. Still, it would be something to pass the time, though that left the rest of today and tomorrow as well. She knew they had to look for the defilers, but likewise knew the others had more chance of accomplishing that goal.
With little else of interest in this section of the city she's about to duck her way back through the tunnel when she spots the begger struggling for a drink and moseys in his direction instead. When she reaches him she holds out her skin wordlessly. "Have magic mul who makes water. You can drink." she adds if he fails to take it, her voice it's usually rough bass, but not aggressive or upset as it often is.
Gorkhan nods and hands over some compensation for the elf's information and future considerations. "By all means, but be particularly careful. I am given to understand a defiler may be involved."
The thri'kreen, thinking of himself as the nucleus of the group, stays in the vicinity of the tavern and eats his meat off the stick, trying his hand at charring the meat over the fire.
The old beggar glares at Raun suspiciously as she approaches but grabs the waterskin and drinks greedily when it is offered.
As he takes the skin, Raun catches a whiff of something dead and rotten. Seeing her face, the old man waves an arm toward a bundle of rags a few yards away.
"That ain't me, that's Cylus. He died night before last and no one's been by to get the corpse. We was both squatting here, sharing some broy he'd filched, when I got this pain in my chest. First I thought it was from some old rice I ate earlier, but it was more a sucking feeling than burning. Cylus had it, too, but he keeled over and didn't get back up.I thought I might, too, but it finally stopped and I could catch my breath. Whatever it was, I guess some others felt it, too, 'cause I heard some screaming from them tunnels in the arena."
The old man looks at Raun sideways as he takes another long pull from the waterskin. "You ain't got nothing to eat, do ya? Or maybe a skin of something stronger, tucked away?"
~~~~~~~~~~~0~~0~~~~~~~~~~
The elf smiles as he takes the handful of silver coins from Gorkhan and pockets them.
"I will find you here when I know something worth telling. Stay out of trouble in the meantime."
Shouldering his lute, the elf disappears into the crowded market.
Raun frowns at the stinking body, but refocuses on the still living beggar when he starts to describe the sensation which afflicted the pair of them, and more besides if he was to be believed. "Where are tunnels?" she asks, patting herself down until she finds the lump of trail rations in one of her pockets. She holds it out to the old man, staring at him until he offers further directions.
Woki looks down at the arrowhead then the twisted halfling before chattering back in their native tongue, "I am Woki of Goh'EntaWosk. I have no desire to poach on your hunting grounds, waste dweller, though I will feed on those that I hunt fairly as the spirits decree. For now, that numbers only a handful of those that kill and corrupt the land, who are hiding among the other tall-ones of your hunting ground. If you have caught scent of them, a man and woman whose corrupt stench is strong, and can point me to which burrow they have hidden themselves away in, the spirits say they will be bountiful in their gratitude." Woki vaguely motions at the other halfling's mangled back for the last bit.