Der Trunkene Ziege is a large coaching inn nestled against the outside wall of Grenzstadt, and would be the primary resting spot for travelers who did not make it in to the city by curfew. The structure is squared around a spacious interior yard, used for staging, duels, fight schools, plays, faith healings, and corporal punishment. Two sides house rooms for patrons, the rear of the structure, abutting the city wall functions as a stable, and the front, road facing, side of the building hosts a large common room and tavern with the owner's lodgings above.

You find yourself in this aforementioned, dimly lit, Common Room. Tables and chairs are scattered about on the sawdust and straw covered floor. Across from you and behind the bar is the owner, a kindly looking bald man, sweeping the detritus of someone's meal onto the floor. A fire burns on either side of the room, taking the chill out of the early Spring night. The space is about a third full of merchants, travelers, and the occasional farmer from outside of the city. A lively dice game seems to be taking place at one table, and a man is throwing knives at a target painted on a wall. If you felt inclined, you could probably join either the group or the man to try and win a bit of money.

Any of the merchants are likely headed over the pass and some are probably willing to hire adventurers to travel with them.

 Even over the noise of the patrons the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard by those close to the doorway. Still the sight of what came thru might have been humorous for those not wise in the way of dwarven lifestyle.

 The squat solid body that followed was as wide as it was tall. He sported a dirty reddish top knot that was braided twice and trailed down the back of his smooth head to fall to his shoulders. The winter coat was open and there was no sign of any shirt underneath just the wide chest of hard muscle.

 Even the drunks took a sniff towards him carefully, at least those who knew of dwarves chose not to say anything about odor while he was close enough to hear.

 The face showed signs of cut marks or claws along the cheek and neck where something had made a effort to end his life. I guess what stands out to most who look at the dwarf was the markings that covered over the claw marks of a spiral turning to the left and spinning downward. Well that and the large axe that gleamed strapped to his back alongside the backpack. In fact it was about the only part that was looking clean over the dwarf.

 He eyed the crowd and then dismissed them as he walked to the bar. Slapping a coin down he nodded once, "What ever is strong".
This message was last edited by the player at 22:47, Mon 12 Nov 2012.

Klaus sat at the gamblers' table, his wiry strength evident in the tension that filled him every time the dice were thrown. He wasn't particularly good, but he was a skilled enough gambler to know it.

[Private to GM: Gambling-11. Not going to wager more than $10.]

Grigory knew his window to secure a job was narrow. He was well into the mug of powerful grog the bartender had poured for him, and he knew it wouldn't be the only time it was filled tonight. He began to make the rounds of the wealthy caravan owners, asking if anyone had a job on offer.

Though he had many unlikeable qualities, some of those made him an attractive guard. His paranoia and criminal past meant he was well armed and capable in combat.

During his rounds he was wary of the dwarf, but thought that he might have found someone to drink with once his job was secured.

The warrior priest looks to be in his late-twenties, early thirties. An average built man, he is just short of six feet tall. His shoulder-length, light-brown hair is usually kept in a low ponytail underneath his helmet. Facial hair, matching that on his head and just long enough to cover his upper lip and chin, frame his broad nose and faded-blue eyes between his average but slightly-darker brown eyebrows.

He made his way about the room, introducing himself to prospective employers:

"Blessings of Sigmar upon you, fine sir (or ma'am)," he said, giving a full bow. His right hand moved to his chest as he continued: "My name is Bjorn Jorgensen, Initiate of the Order of the Silver Hammer." He extended his hand in greeting. "If there be any want of aid in your travels," he motioned to the shield on his back, "I am able and willing to serve as a shield of faith to you and yours. Fear not the servants of Chaos, for with this blessed hammer shall, evil shall be smiten."

18:42, Today: Bjorn Jorgensen rolled 9 using 3d6. Diplomacy 12 (Influence roll).

The Inn's owner finished cleaning off the bar counter before picking up the Dwarf's coin. He eyed it in the light, bounced it off the counter and palmed it away somewhere.

"Sure thing. We have a Dunkel Lager that some of the others of'n your kind seem to like. You wanting any food to go along with that drink? Bread, cheese, we also make good potato dumplings."

The man sets a pint stein in front of the dwarf of a nearly black beer and awaits any food order.

---

Across the tavern at the dicing table, a swarthy looking man shakes some dice in a cup.

"Alright then lads, buy in is two pence now. Anyone closest to the number rolled wins the kitty, splits it if he ties with another." He continues to shake as Klaus and the three others ante up, then flips the cup to the table. "What's your guesses?"

Of the players with Klaus, one guesses snake eyes, another a wise middle of the road number, and the third drunkenly mumbles something that may or may not have been actual speech.

Close to the game, Bjorn was already starting to see some interest from a couple merchants in the room. Both, though, were awaiting cattle shipments that weren't expected to arrive for a day or two.

---

Klause, roll a quick contest against your gambling score.
- Player 1 rolled a 12, skill 10
- Player 2 rolled an 8, skill 12
- Player 3 rolled a 14, skill 9

 He had listened but his interest's at this moment was on the tankard In front of him.
Glancing up he tried to recall when he had eaten a full meal lately. He remembered at the foot of blacks pass he had traded that gold nugget for a full meal from those farmers and a bottle of cheap elvish wine. In truth he did not remember anything in the pass week of filling his stomach.

 He would have to find his doom soon or get a job somewhere soon. to gain a bit of coin to keep him in drinks. Still for now he had a bit of coin to fill in the blanks. What ever meal is cheap. he muttered just before he drained the tankard in one long swallow and slid it across to be refilled along with another coin.

 He turned slightly now that the faint touch of alcohol began coursing thru his body once more and looked over the gathered tables. Some he could guess were soldiers or fighters wanting to be soldiers, others were card sharks looking for prey. Still the group of merchants sitting around the one table with their decent clothes and trimmed beards were interesting. They could be needing a hand with the train and that would put him much closer to the trolls and bandits that roamed that area and his doom.

 Turning back as the sound of the refilled tankard slid across the bar top and looked over the plate of greasy stew of some kind. "Any of them wagon masters going out along the border mountains needing a hand.? he asked the bar keep. just before he ladled the stew into his mouth and his stomach gurgled in contentment.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:53, Tue 13 Nov 2012.

Distracted by the men calling loudly for work like whores in the street, Klaus misses the next roll of the dice, and blows his wager.

"Spite and blood," he curses.

ooc: Failed by 5.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:15, Tue 13 Nov 2012.

Sitting silently among the much-better appointed merchants, a dour man in black leathers dips a chunk of bread into a bowl of stew and washes it down with occasional splashes of cheap wine; arrayed among his 'companions' he seems particularly humourless, and participates in their conversations with little more than the occasional grunt or nod. He has the look of a soldier, complete with a sword at his hip, though the portly servant nearby makes that assessment odd to say the least.

That same servant sits just slightly to the side of the dour man, sitting at a small separate table with a sign-up form and smiling amiably at the other patrons. He had been soliciting laborers and guards for a soon-departing trade wagon with so far little luck, as the more wealthy merchants nearby had made a sport of poaching the respectable few that had attempted to sign on. Still, his energy hadn't waned as his master sat nearby, gloomily taking his supper.

The fat man's eyes light up once again as Bjorn introduces himself. He stands in the presence of the holy-man, his belly pushing the small table out a few inches as he rises clumsily to his feet.

"Ah, and upon you as well, your grace! My name is Maurice and indeed, we are hiring for a voyage that leaves on the morrow, one I daresay would be of great interest to you: we head for the Black Pass to Akendorf, where we will surely pay homage at the great shrine of Sigmar! Such an opportunity for us both!" The man shuffles around the small table, plucking up the sign-in sheet. "If you would make your mark, I will ensure that you receive your payments and insurance orderly and on time - these things can be such a bother - and I'll have the barman send you over a meal as a signing bonus."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:03, Tue 13 Nov 2012.