In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 33):

Volsh was not so concerned about the silver, as he was there for another reason.  "You can keep it.  In my village, stories were often sung by the elders, but none had voices as pretty as hers."  He motioned to the singer.

"I have heard that the bards and minstrels who come here are well traveled and have news of other lands.  If I were interested in such, who might be willing to share their news with me for some ale and a few silvers?"

The serving woman smiles.  "Anyone and everyone here would be willing to spin you a tale for drink and silver, whether that tale be news or a story, 'twould be up to you.  But I'm guessing you didn't come in here for simple entertainment.  If it's recent news your looking for," she nods her chin over at a table farther away from the stage.  In one chair is a slime gnome with his hair dressed dangerously high, dressed in an eye-shocking shade of blue in clothes that are just one degree from being painted on.  In the other is a sandy-haired halfling man in conservative but very neat and clean traveling leathers, wearing a few silver and gold rings on his hands.  Both are conversing very quietly, the majority of their attention on the elf singer on stage.  "Those two, Brildeben in blue, Jaffen in the brown, make regular circuits.  Brildeben's been most recently in Andeluvay, and Jaffen in Albon, so they have a pretty good cross-section of news from about the country."

Farian looks around the pub as to see if he is being watched. Not noticing anything obvious he orders some wine from the curvaceous serving wench "Lass a glass of wine and 2 cups if ye join me. I will instruct you in the mysteries of Pelor."

The serving woman who comes by his table laughs lightly.  "Wine I'll bring you, but the mysteries of Pelor will have to come later," she says.  She moves off through the crowd, and comes back a short time later with a glass of red wine, which she sets down in front of him with a flourish, the bottle next to it, taking a silver in payment.  "What brings Pelor's own into the Wild Angel?  Just a love for heavenly melodies?"

Volsh nodded to the woman, and gave her another four silver, "I thank you, and please another round for me, and a round for my friends over there."  He smiled and motioned to Brildeben and Jaffen with a tilt of his head.  Once she had delivered the drinks he would see whether they came to him or he woudl have to approach them.

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 38):

"I seek to spread the word of the mighty Pelor and his valiant St Bane.  It is especially sweet to share them with a lovely lass."

The serving woman winks at him knowingly.  "I know just the lovely lass in need of Pelor's light," she says, and leans over to so she can nod her head towards a nearby table.  Farian can see the woman at the next table is a lovely half-elf with her light brown hair swept up with small bits of gilded leather.  She wears a gown of fine tan and cream with blue embroidery and a gilded leather belt about her waist.  She has a very fine scar near her hairline, and her hands have some callus on them, so she is no stranger to work or danger.  That's not at all unusual in Redhaven.  She bears a dagger on her hip, but also a twin flute in a case that  matches her belt.  She is smiling at the music, occasionally toying with a cup on her table.  She looks over at Farian as if she can sense eyes on her, and nods at him in invitation.

If he is willing to go sit with her at her table, she'll dimple at him and introduce herself.  "Shalara Invare," she says, her voice a low alto.  "My sister seems to think I'm in great need of good company,"  Her laugh says she doesn't necessarily mind the interference.  "Who has she sent me this time?"

The serving woman nods and smiles, returning soon with a pitcher to refill his drinks, and two more glasses for the pair of travelers.  They listen to her, then raise their glasses to Volsh before drinking.  Once both have satisfied their thirst, they wait until the end of the current song before joining Volsh at his table.  They drag their own chairs over, ones suitable for gnomes and halflings so they don't have to peer over the edge of a table on a human-sized chair.

"Hail and well met, good fellow!" Brildeben says brightly.  "And thanks for wetting our whistles.  Daphne there says you're a man in need of news.  What news are you seeking?"

Jaffen just nods politely, attentive to what might need to be said.

Volsh motioned to the chairs at his table, so the two would be at ease sitting down.  "I am Volsh, son of Vor.  Daphne mentioned that you are Brildeben and Jaffen, so I would not have you at a disadvantage.  It is true that I seek information.  I seek some men, but I am not sure who they are or who leads them, but they all seemed to wear a symbol, so I am thinking perhaps the heraldry means something.  If nothing else, perhaps it can be used to identify them."  He described the symbol to them as best he could, "Have you heard news of men wearing this symbol in the region, or anywhere for that matter?"

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 41):

"Shalara Invare", "It is a great pleasure in meeting a seeker of knowledge. Will you join me in a cup of wine while we discuss Pelor and St Bane?"

In reply to Dungeon Master (msg # 41):

"Shalara Invare", "It is a great pleasure in meeting a seeker of knowledge. Will you join me in a cup of wine while we discuss Pelor and St Bane?"

"For such an invitation, I'd have to be mad to refuse," Shalara says.  She gives Farian a small smile as she sits at his table.  She plucks the cup from his hand and takes a sip before returning it back to him.  "What sun rays of wisdom will you shine upon this flower, Brother...?" she asks, prompting his name.  Up close, the woman does indeed smell of lilies and roses.

Brildeben ponders for a moment, then turns to Jaffen, who is already pulling out a sheet of foolscap and a stick of drawing charcoal from his pouch.

"Drawing's more Jaffen's talent than mine," Brildeben explains, and probes Volsh for more detail, Jaffen turning the drawing to Volsh several times until it looks as close to his memory as he can recall.

"Ah!  Now properly informed, let me think," Brildeben says, closing his eyes for a moment.  Jaffen instead pulls a leather-covered book and starts flipping through the pages examining the lines of small printed squiggles that civilized folk needed to organize their thoughts.

After several minutes, Brildeben shakes his head.  "There's bandit bands, raiding clans, and hostile tribes off the beaten track, for certain, but I don't recall that particular symbols, either seeing it, or having it described to me."

Jaffen, who had been utterly silent, points his finger at an entry in his little book, looking triumphant.  Brildeben looks over and his eyebrows arc up.

"Interesting indeed..."

Jaffen thumps Brildeben and gives him a pointed look.

"Ah, sorry.  Jaffen can't talk.  Had a run-in with a manticore and took a spine to the throat.  Nearly lost his life, so he counts his voice as a small cost.  But there's nothing wrong with his ears or his fingers.  His entry here has something he overheard in Albon, from a soldier at Fort Cross.  He says there was a raid on a dwarf caravan from Firegold Citadel to the Fort, and what wagons they didn't lose were slap-dashed with that symbol or something like it, sometimes in mud, sometimes in blood.  The survivors said the raiders moved well, even considering how dwarves can see in the dark, and attacked like rabid dogs.  If they hadn't had war boars pulling some of the wagons, they might have lost the whole caravan.  Hmm... the soldier's name was Harken Luden, and the dwarf he spoke to was Guthbar Ironmaw.  That's all he has written."

Sir Aberlayne, Narthian and Thunder, Dellas, and Haazheel head out to Market Street, lugging their items for sale.  About half the businesses are already open, and more are just setting out their shingles.  The scent of fresh-baked bread permeates the street from Gebbin's Bakery, and another whiff of fresh fruit comes from someone pushing a cart full of baskets of pears nearby.  Sir Aberlayne looks around, waving at the occasional person that she seems to know, before finally waving at a storefront painted in bright blue and gold, its sign showing the name, "Feld's Antiquities," along with a pair of spectacles, an urn, and a coin.  The front window is stuffed with what looks like a carved wooden helm sized for a giant, several candelabras made from choker hands, and a carved wooden screen made from some blue wood and pink ivory.

Inside it is equally crammed, looking in many ways like a more crowded version of the Adventurer's Guildhall, except that things are generally of finer materials, are not in need of repair, and bear hefty price tags.  Some things are behind locked, glass-fronted cabinets, and a few of the cabinets are behind a large counter.  Some subtle etching on the glass of those cabinets makes Haazheel and Dellas think that opening them would likely trigger a spell.  Likely an alarm spell, but it could be something more dangerous.

Behind the counter is an old gnome man, wearing golden spectacles upon his prominent nose, wearing a soft pink leather cap and a darker pink vest embroidered with magical beasts over a fine linen shirt and trousers of dark blue.  He looks up from a large tome he was examining, and waves them forward to place their items on the counter.  Not surprisingly, there are steps there for people with shorter legs than humans.

"A bargain, then?" he asks.

"A bargain, Master Feld," she says.  "From a kobold's treasure trove, unseen by civilized eyes, carefully prepared for your perusal..."  Sir Aberlayne tells no untruths as she describes and shows off the folk art bracelets, the colorful stones, the embroidered silver cloth, the cloth of gold crown, and the brass chest, but she does make them sound very special indeed.

Master Feld nods and examines each thing carefully, sometimes pulling out a magnifying glass, angling a mirror to bring in daylight for clearer sight, a couple of times consulting a book or scroll as he compares details to notes.

"I believe I could offer... thirty-five hundred gold for this mixed lot," he says finally, nodding.

Sir Aberlayne smiles, but scoffs.  "Master Feld, I did not fall off the hay wagon yesterday.  The crown has great history behind it, the chest is highly unusual.  Six thousand."

The two continue to haggle for some time, Master Feld poo-pooing the significance of the finds, Sir Aberlayne extolling their virtue, Master Feld claiming his profit margins would be nothing, for their was the transport to his markets in Albon to think of, Sir Aberlayne saying that he wouldn't let four adventurers starve, would he?  After a great deal of posturing and whinging, praise and cajolery, borderline insults and little side comments, the two finally shake their hands, satisfied.

"Four thousand, nine hundred ninety and not a copper more," Feld says firmly as Sir Aberlayne nods.  He snaps his fingers, and a young human and a middle-aged half-elf come out to whisk the items away to the back room.  "Now, shall I sent the amount to the Moneychanger's Guild, or are you going to be buying things in town and need the gold outright?"

Sir Aberlayne looks at the others, raising an eyebrow for their input.

Amongst the other things on the shelves are a lovely brass vase, inlaid with mahogany wood, a purple fur cloak with marble clasps, an ornamental limestone jewelry box set with an obsidian piece, an engraved pewter ring inlaid with bone, a strange blue silk hat that resembles a boar, a beautiful red silk cloak with silver clasps, a silver-framed painting of a knight in brilliant gold armor.

On the floor, you spy a beetle about the size and hue of a gold piece scuttle across from one side of the aisle to another, followed by at least five of its friends.  They're quickly followed by a calico cat.

OOC:  If there's anything you're looking for on the shelves, or any questions you want to ask, please do.

--

Lantamori heads down to Ironheart's Forge in the market square, already active and smoking, the sound of clanging metal ringing out clearly in the morning air.  In a town like this, with lots of former soldiers and a heavy adventurer presence, a good blacksmith is worth their weight in diamonds, and Master Ironheart is not one to rest of his laurels.  A tall and strong human man, he wears his beard in a braided dwarven fashion.  A scorched leather apron covers most of his clothes, and his arms are bare, sheened with sweat as he bangs away on what looks like an axe blade.  Apprentices are on either side of him, hammering away at their own commissions, or pumping the bellows, shoveling in coal, or other tasks, and do not look up when Lantamori enters.

Master Ironheart eventually quenches the blade he was working on, and turns to Lantamori, sizing up the small elf woman in a way that makes you think he's already determining what size of armor you'd need, what length of sword you'd want.

"What brings you here today?" he asks, his voice a little rough with all the smoke he must have breathed in over the years.
This message was last edited by the GM at 14:37, Tue 30 May 2017.

Volsh could not read, but so he took what the fellow said as true.  This was the first lead that he had acquired, so he repeated several of the items to commit them to memory.  "I have not heard of these places, Firegold Citadel and Fort Cross.  Where are they?  Are they far from here?"

PM

Dellas listens attentively and tries to learn everything about haggling... at least for the first five minutes before his attention was drawn to an ornament jewelry box and what seems to be an old dresser. By the final offer he listens again and quickly counts "Around... 550 each? Well that's less than I had hoped for... but sounds fair." His face does show disappointment before he forces a smile "Master Feld, do you check all your items for magic by yourself?" He waits for his reply "I am Dellas, wizard and proud Blackwarden of the guild, have you heard anything interesting going on here? A man of your status and importance surely has heard a rumor or two."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:14, Tue 30 May 2017.

Narthian and Thunder watch the beetles and cat with interest. He wonders if there is any significance in the clan of beetles inhabiting this place.

Knowledge: Nature - identify the beetles: 20:17, Today: Narthian Goldleaf rolled 23 using 1d20+9 ((14)).

After finishing his breakfast, Averdante heads out with Preet into the morning's light. It doesn't take him long to find his way back to Threadneedle street. It's still early, but he's hoping the tailor's shop is open. He's looking forward to seeing how his new clothes look on him.

The Previous Night, the Wild Angel Inn...



"Depends on what you consider near or far.  A man like you, used to exercising your legs rather than your mouth, not terribly far," Brildebren says.  He points at some marks on the table.  "Sefina has a map on every table, just in case.  Look, all of this is the land of Low'verok," he traces his finger around the irregular edge of the markings, "And beyond those borders are the unclaimed lands.  Now, this oblong here is the Sea of Song, and this dot here near the bottom (which is southward) is the city of Albon.  That's a solid week's travel on horseback, a bit more on foot.  This dotted line here that goes across the southern part?  That's the South Trade Road.  Roads are dotted, rivers are solid on this map.  This large spot here represents Redhaven.  Follow the road westward from Redhaven and you reach Albon.  Turn south from Albon, and there is a road that leads to the Dragonspine Mountains.  See the jagged triangles?  That means there's mountains there.  Now, the road goes over the Deepwater River, at the Stone Bridge just before it gets to the mountains.  And on the other side of the bridge over the river and through a mountain pass is Fort Cross.  Across the Dragonspine Mountains, is Firegold Citadel, home of the Goldheart dwarf clan, amongst others.  It might take you another week to get from Albon to Fort Cross, and another good week or more to get to the Citadel from the Fort."

Jaffen pokes Brildeben and raises his eyebrows brings his hands together, as if making something smaller.

"Right.  Sorry.  I do natter on so."  He traces the route again.  "A week west to Albon, a week south to Fort Cross, another week or so west to Firegold Citadel, assuming good weather and a sturdy horse.  Maybe a month all told to get to the Citadel, assuming the occasional delay of weather or bandits.  Being you're a strapping young man, I doubt it would be hard to find a job or three trending in those directions."

At Feld's Antiquities...

Haazheel examines some of the items on the shelves. 




Sir Aberlayne murmurs to Dellas quietly, "A better profit for him would have been less than that by a long shot.  We could have hauled everything to Albon ourselves to sell them, but I doubt we wanted to do that."




"I do check my wares for magic myself.  I have a knack for that.  I think you'll find nearly every resident of Redhaven walked the Adventurer's path or something similar for a while.  As for rumors?  Who doesn't have a passel?  Albon's having their Pearl Festival in a week, there's rumor of things coming out of the Forbidden lands according to my cousin in the south, the Black Butterfly was said to have been seen in Port Lyalee, and supposedly the church of Pelor is hunting for some destined soul recently awakened who might be able to wake the Queen from her cursed slumber," he says almost absently, writing things down in his ledger.

All of you know that Queen Falshan, wife of King Xargo, has been in a sort of enchanted trance for going to twenty years.  Many people have tried to break the curse or found its maker, attempted to heal her or intervene with the gods for her, but she remains still asleep.

The Black Butterfly is almost a figure of myth, supposedly the King of Thieves, and dangerous beyond belief.  No two people can agree on what he looks like or even what race he is, but all agree he has a tattoo of a Black Butterfly on his face.



Narthian ponders the insects he knows. 

---



Kuri taylor's shop on Threadneedle Street is indeed open, and a pair of her apprentices will see you in, taking your clothes off of a dummy for you to take to a curtained-off area to try out.  They are colorful enough to be handsome and draw some attention, not so much as to make every eye light on him.  The fit is good, and the apprentices smile at him winsomely as he makes a slow turn.

"Lovely," she said.  "And able to stand up to road dirt, sweat, and the occasional light arrow or claw-slash."
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:01, Wed 31 May 2017.

[Ironheart's Forge]

"I would like to commission a shirt of mithral armor for myself," she replied to Master Ironheart.

"Could you help me with that?"

She thought it unlikely to find something ready to hand in her size and expected to retrieve it when next they returned to Redhaven.

"Interesting bugs that your cat found, Master Feld," Narthian says over his shoulder, stalking along with the cat with interest. "Are they yours?"

Dellas laughs "Indeed, we all have heard rumors though some have more than others. I thank you good man and I think that we should like money now. We've some shopping to do, thank you very much." He looks at the others "I'm planning to go and see if I can get some spells or similar... I also need some spicy peppers. Is anyone here going to the guild?  Or do we know where the others went? I didn't really pay attention."

Alright, I wanna buy some scrolls and some adventuring gear maybe or a cart.

Diffidently, Haazheel asks "The ring...may I try it on?..but I fear it's too expensive anyway."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 12:44, Sun 04 June 2017.