(Adventure) Rivenblight's Castaway [Creamsteak judging]

[GnomeWorks]

Velbrik
"I suppose we could try that. Were you thinking of using real treasure of some sort, or just an empty wagon? Also consider that there may be other caravans heading out - we could look at one of those and see if we can get ourselves put as guards or some-such. That would probably be easier and faster, and the merchants sponsoring it would most likely agree to whatever we had planned for an ambush."

Troi considers the bard's words for a moment. "I s'pose you got an idea. But I was thinkin' that if we put out word that there's a caravan headin' out with a rare an' valuable treasure that we'd get a better chance a catchin' 'em."

Velbrik
"We ought to see what else we can come up with, though. But we definitely need to speak with the merchants, first."

Troi nods. "Yeah, we are kinda workin' with only a little info here. If we talk ta th' merchants we'll get a clearer picture."

Jaan
"I would agree with Velbrik. Joining an existing caravan would probably be easier and faster. But we should wait 'n see what they have to say."

"Th' problem with that, though, is that we dunno if th' bandits'll hit whatever caravan we join up with, y'know? But if we set up one ourselves, an' look fer guards ta protect a valuable item... I think that'd attract their attention, an' we'd have a bit better chance a success."

 

[doghead]

Jaan grins.

"We're wearing out the carpet going around in circles on this one. Let's head over to the Guild House an see what they have to add."

Turning back to the Watchman, Jaan says his thanks.

 

[Sparky]

Eyebrows climbing eagerly at Jaan's suggestion to leave, Ioleta gives a nod in the desk sergeant's direction and all but skips out the door. Skirting mailed Guardsmen and group members alike she hops down the short flight of steps and into the street. A breeze rustles her short cropped hair and she turns her face to the wind.

Whew.

When the others make their way into the street she nods her head towards the broad and sprawling mercantile district of Orussus and quite unneccessarily says, "This way to the Guild. I can smell the glinty." She overpronouces the word, tasting its effect on her tongue. Hmm... sounded better when the dwarves said it.

She shrugs at some inner dialog and catches the rippling reflection of a soaring eagle in a puddle at her feet. Whipping her head back she searches the skies for the eagle just in time to see it stoop. Her brow creases as she does some clearly taxing arithmetic. "That eagle just dove towards the Red Dragon. I hope Joe doesn't have any pets."

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

237 East Potter's Lane branches off at a three-way (East, South, and West) split from North Potter's lane in the outer reaches of the merchant's quarter. The section of East Potter's Lane that 237 resides in appears to be of small offices for various shops, guilds and so forth; a "clerk's district" if you will. 237 seems to be one of these, although it stands out as a building of stone in a sea of more cost-effective wood structures. Literally engraved in the stone above the stout wooden door are dwarven runes reading

Voran, Valin, Vursur and Sons
And Associates
Clerks and Barristers
"Records as well kept as your Axe."​

Below that is a small wooden sign that repeats the same in common.

Opening the door sends a shaft of light into what is a fairly, if not entirely, well-lit room. The concessions to those unable to see perfectly well in the dark consist of a lantern hanging from the ceiling and a single neatly dripping candle on the desks of each of the three dwarves in the small room, who are all dressed in respectable, if exceedingly practical, clothing and sporting the beards common to their race. The one in the furthest forward desk looks up. "D'ye have an appointment?" he says in a voice entirely reminiscent in accent of his fellows at the Dragon, if clearer. It might also be worth noting that he says appointment in the same way they said glinty.

 

[Sparky]

With a glance up at the carved sign, Ioleta hauls open the door and, nodding as each pass her, "After you... after you... after you." She puts the emphasis on different syllables each time, peering at her companions faces as they parade in. My, we're a handsome lot. She slips in after, blinking in the dim, head swivelling to the vague sun-green shadowed movements of the candlelit dwarf. Wish I could see in the dark like I hear those dwarves can.

 

[doghead]

Jaan, distracted by Ioleta's word plays, stumbles over the step. Its lucky he can't hear what she is thinking.

Dwarves. Hmm. Probably not going to be a amusing as those in the The Dragon. Jaan suddenly realises that he has no idea about how "adventurers" go about this sort of thing.

"Morning. I am Jaan Saaresar. We came to discuss solving the problem of some bandits."

Er, that doesn't sound right somehow.

ooc: Sparky, you're mad.

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

The Dwarf grunts noncommitally, then gets up and walks over to the stone column in the center of the room. He stands next to it with his back towards you and leans forward. "Daggreth!" he shouts at the pillar, and then something in Dwarven. As he moves back towards his desk, he lets the wooden panel mounted on the pillar with hinges clack back into place over a small hole bored there.

"Shouldna' be a moment," he grunts at you.

 

[GnomeWorks]

Dwarf
"Shouldna' be a moment,"

Troi nods. "Right." He leans against the wall as they wait.

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

You wait about thirty seconds before the trapdoor in the back of the room opens. It's quite well done- a thin sheet of stone over the wooden door fits quite seamlessly into the floor- and out climbs a stout-looking Dwarf. He's dressed in what looks like leather armor. Not much, and certainly not pretty (if well-maintained), but out of the ordinary for a clerk. And the knife on his belt looks like more than a letter opener.

His hobnailed boots clank on the stone as he walks over to you. He gives you a once over and grunts with what might be approval. He doesn't offer his hand, but he touches two inkstained fingers to his temple in a pseudo-salute. "Daggreth Vurssurson. Yer here 'bout that trouble northerly?" He spits. "Damn poncy Elves..." he mutters. His compatriot at reception glares at him, and says something that sounds like a reprimand in Dwarven. Daggreth rolls his eyes but doesn't reply. "Right," he says to the group. "What'dya need?"

 

[doghead]

Jaan nods to the dwarf.

"Jaan Saaresar."

He considers introducing the others but decides that they might have their reasons for wanting to do it themselves.

"We have some ideas, but it would help to know more. So background would be a good place to start. How long have the attacks been going on? How often have they attacked and how do they do it? What has already been done?"