The Roc's Roost was a stopover for anyone traveling by the Trade Road that ran between Rembar and Arnia.  It was a place to rest before heading up into the mountain pass and it was a place to recover for those who had just made the journey from the other direction.  This inn saw regular caravans come through it and over time had grown into something of a small fort.  It was located a short way into the hills from the jungle below and through a narrow pass; widened just enough to pass a large wagon through.  Directly East of the inn the road started becoming noticeably steeper as it climbed into the mountains.

A wooden palisade surrounded the inn.  The road passed straight through the compound, going East-West, by a gate located on either side.  Within there stood five buildings; the largest was the main inn.  This two-story building had an eatery on the first floor and the upstairs dedicated to guest bedrooms.  Next to it was a long, single-story building that served as accommodations for employees as well as having additional rooms for guests.

On the other side of the road within the inn compound stood an open-air forge that rang with the sound of a smith hard at work pounding metal.  Next to the forge was another building; a general store with large glass windows that allowed any travel to see the tools and other supplies available as a last-minute purchase before going either up into the mountains on the East or down into the jungle on the West.  Finally, the inn kept a stable capable of housing at least a score of animals.

Two guards, dressed in scale mail and wielding bardiches, stand at the East gate and two more at the West gate.  Attacks, whether from man or monster, were not common along this section of the Trade Road.  But they did happen often enough that having men-at-arms on hand  was a necessary precaution.

On this evening the Roc's Roost saw it's usual amount of business.  The eatery was busy with travelers, some going East into the mountains, other going West into Kataar.  All had already obtained a room and were settling in for the night's supper.  The proprietor, a dark-skinned Kataaran man, stood behind a bar taking drink orders as three serving girls bustled around the eatery, occasionally making their way into the kitchen.

A human sat at the bar with a halfling, well into their cups.  They owned a wagon parked at the stable, full of corn from Arnia's fields, as well as a small herd of goats.  "I can't believe it," the human was saying, "just swooped down and grabbed them.  Two goats gone like that."  The halfling shook his head in agreement.

"I paid your road toll five days ago, when we came through here before!"  A white-haired dwarf was arguing with a pasty half-elven man.  The dwarf was head of a group of four dwarves sharing a table as well as their dislike for the man speaking to them.  "It's not even been a week and you expect us to pay a second toll just to leave this swamp of yours?"  The dwarves seemed to be traveling home after having conducted some business in the nearby city of Kaarn.  Each had a pony stabled outside.  The half-elf claimed to be a toll collector for the city magistrate.

And then there were six others resting at the Roc's Roost that evening.  A scarred man who called himself a farmer but had the bearing of a knight, a suspiciously average-looking Kataaran man, a slightly-built and dark-haired woman with a pistol at her hip and an air that says she's willing to use it, a blonde woman who looks like she could belong in either a pristine library or dirty tomb, a red-haired woman with a mischievous and otherworldly aura, and a tall black-scaled dracil sticking out in every way from the others inside the building.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:50, Sat 08 Feb 2020.

Zassil had arrived at the Roc's Roost just before sundown with a small caravan. He'd gotten himself hired as a guard for the caravan to Roc's Roost, but it was just another step in his long journey. He glanced at the forge and general store, interested in them, but not having anything needing to be purchased at the moment. He had made his way to the inn and rented a room for the night.

He was seated at one of the tables, sipping at an ale, and didn't seem to mind if anyone sat with him even as he listened to some of the conversations going on in the room. The talk about something swooping down and grabbing goats was interesting. Perhaps something he could help take care of, but likely not alone. He looked over at the person trying to collect a road toll, eyes narrowed as he tried to suss out if the half-elf was on the level or not.

Merrick watched the current commotion between the Dwarves and the town official with growing amusement.  "Almost forgot the local 'tax on paying tax' tax," the young man quipped quietly as he tipped his mug back and chuckled to himself.  He could hear his Father, whispering in the back of his mind; Government and taxes.  Now there's a real thief for you!  He kept that part to himself however, content to watch the impromptu floor show from his little corner of the room as his he dealt himself out a lone game with his playing cards.

Lissabytta sat with a pair of smoked goggles pushed up onto the crown of her tricorne-style hat; she blew away an errant strand of dirty blonde hair that had been hanging down between her eyes.  The dirty blonde scholar ordered a bowl of stew and some cheese and bread for the table she sat at, the one that contained the burly farmer and pistol-packing brunette.

In her suede-gloved hand were a couple of sheaves of paper.  One was obviously a detailed, hand drawn map with annotations and another appeared to be a letter with its ordered lines of prose dotting it.  "Up and over is the fastest way in to Arnia from here." Lissa noted idly, gesturing upwards with her free hand in the direction of the mountain pass, "we can stick with Melocks' caravan at least until Endor, I suspect..." safety in numbers and all, even if the caravan would be slower potentially, "There I'll be linking up with my old adviser, Professor Benjamin Clarke.  He's heading up an expedition into the more remote parts of Arnia."

She gave her companions a light easy smile, "Could use your help.  You are both extremely handy..."  there was the obvious implication that the young explorer had some genuine first-hand knowledge of that, "While Professor Clarke can be a bit of an acquired taste, he's well-respected ... " in some circles, at least, that was true, "... and is generally generous enough in compensation."

Lissa shrugged slightly before stuffing the documents back in her pack and settling down into the bench seating next to the table.  She carefully shifted her pack next to her, making sure that the long, thin item wrapped in an oilskin and lashed to the pack was clear of any hindrances and hazards and resting against her side.   She started to tuck into the food as it was brought, dripping a rough piece of bread into the stew bowl in front of her.  Her eyes scanned the other patrons and a light smile touched her lips as the argument between the dwarves and (half-)elves began to heat up.  Moving across borders was always potentially tricky - especially when goods (or artifacts) were involved.  Lissabytta was pretty sure that racial tensions weren't helping the situation either; but she wasn't about to get involved.  Yet.

Zassil frowned a little as his gaze, and attention, slowed and came to a stop on the half-elf collector. Something wasn't right. He wasn't sure exactly what, but he had a good idea. He thought about interrupting - but he had no proof, and that might cause more trouble, for both himself and the dwarves possibly, than it was worth.

He pulled out a book and a pencil, starting to sketch a bit as he kept an eye and ear on the conversations around him, and that one in particular.

"Thats's right," the half-elf sounded confident in his own importance, "You paid the toll when you came through last time and now you're coming through again.  It's not the same toll, it's a completely new one."

The collected dwarves grumbled angrily and their headman scowled fiercely, "Tell your magistrate to chew a boulder.  If he wants to collect a second tax for using this road he can collect it himself!"  The other dwarves grumbled their agreement.  "We came here on business and there's been one tax after another.  'Foriegn business tax' then a 'Lantern tax' and a 'Noise tax.'  Noise Tax!  Because the pony whinnied in the city street!"

During the argument, the proprietor of the inn was chuckling slightly to himself; giving the impression that he's seen similar exchanges before.

"Well, Ah do thank you for the implied compliment, Lissa," the dark-haired woman replied in a lilting drawl.  "And in addition to the compensation, there is the added benefit of possibly disappearing into remote parts."  Seated tall and straight at the edge of the bench seat, she lifted a hand folded in the lap of her worn skirt - now truly clean for the first time in months, thanks to the magic of the blonde seated across the table - and picked a piece of cheese from her plate, lifting it to her mouth for a delicate nibble.

"Ah can imagine few places to which Daddy's agents cannot follow.  Remote parts of Arnia, however, may be one of them.  What do you think, Marco?" she enquired, lifting her head by necessity to meet the face of the big man with the scar across his eye.

Don’t get involved.  Don’t get involved.  Don’t. Get. Involved.

Merrick sighed at the ongoing discussion at the other side of the bar.  He really shouldn’t get involved; there was absolutely no upside to him.  At the end of the day it was just another foreign sucker being taken for his last coin because he didn’t have the sense to recognize a con when he saw one.  Nothing wrong with parting a fool from his money a fatherly voice chided the young man.

Still…. There was something about the half-elf that irked the young Kataaran.  The swindle was too obvious, too ham-fisted.  It lacked finesse and reeked of a lazy arrogance.   Merrick’s eyes glanced downwards to his game and the young man sighed more audibly this time.  That he had spent the last five minutes cheating at a game of solitaire betrayed him; It’s not like you have anything better to do with your time, the scene screamed up at him.

True.  He was bored.  And this might be fun.

Putting on a slightly hurt face he turned towards the dwarves and called out, peaceably.  My good man.  Apologies for intruding, but I would appreciate it if you’d not disparage my cousin as such.  Pausing for effect, the young Kataaran pushed out his chair, and with mug in hand ambled over to the dwarves' table.   ”Now, I sympathize with your plight but my cous- well second cousin actually; and I shouldn’t refer to him so casually.  The chief magistrate doesn’t pass the laws, he just enforces them.  And, if I understand correct,” Merrick hestitated to look sympathetically towards the half-elf, ”this would be the created wealth exit tax, yes? Chapter 2, Article 4?”

The young man paused again, but not long enough for the half-elf to get a word in edgewise.  “It’s quite valid,” he declared quickly turning to the dwarves.  ”Its intent is to account for any implied wealth earned in the city as a result of improvement to goods and services that aren’t easily quantified during your stay.  Of course there are exceptions,” he added helpfully to the dwarf.  ”But you’d need to advise as to your type of business in the city for our friend here to even know whether they apply," he advised as he took a sip from him mug, watching the dwarf expectantly.

Marco nodded, "Yer Father is more determined then I'd 'ave thought but, Aye, let's meet with yer Professor and move onto whatever dig he be workin' on." he sat down with the two young women he wandered with, "The season for plantin' is over anyway, need something to occupy my time, can't have it completely takin' up by you fine lasses all the time." he gave a teasing smile as he winked at both Bunny and Lissa.

The face of the dark young woman fell into sober thought.  "It has been many years since he was the man Ah knew as a child, Marco," she said when at last she spoke again.  "But in those last few days before Ah left, he was possessed of a singular madness that Ah can only describe as horrifying.  Based upon that alone, Ah would put little beyond him," she said behind haunted eyes.

After a still moment she fought her way free of the nightmare memories, and capped them within their bottle with a deep breath that sighed out with only the barest hint of a shudder.  "Perhaps you could tell us more about what we mahght expect of your Professor Benjamin Clarke, Lissa," she said, by way of changing the subject.  "And the goals of this expedition he is mounting."

Zassil cleared his throat, loud enough to be heard at the table of dwarves just a short distance away, knowing that his throat-clearing would sound unlike anyone else's in the room.

He spoke with polite but firm words, again loud enough to be heard, but not louder than that. "Please stop. Your attempts at corrupt graft and falsehoods are clumsy and boring. Tell the dwarves the truth or, better yet, leave them be." All this was said while he didn't even look up or stop drawing in his book.

He pulled out and audibly set two gold coins on the table. "Or if your greed is too much for you to handle, you may take these two gold coins, one each, without any trouble and then leave without any trouble. Sharply. Anything else will be considered more boring and I will have to do something to liven things up for myself." He continued to draw in his book without looking up.

The dwarf grumped as another Kataaran got involved.  Human this time, but human or half, a Kataaran was a Kataaran as far as Brego was concerned.

"Magistrate's second cousin?" He said with a snort, "Everyone in that city is related to some government official or another."

"Exceptions?"  The dwarf's bushy eyebrows rose over his spectacled face, "Now this is the first time I've heard anyone make mention of exceptions." He and the other three dwarves glared at the half-elf, "Of course you wouldn't want to let a few honest dwarves know about this would you?"

The pasty half-elf tried to maintain composure, but was very clearly uncomfortable at this sudden turn of events.

"Our business is milling."  The white-haired old dwarf turned back to the newcomer, "Out in south Arnia, the forest near the foothills.  We made the trip here because someone made mention of potential new customers.  And cheaper steel for the saw." He snorted, "should have known better than to think they'd have a match for good dwarven steel in this damnable jungle."

"Eh?"  He looked across to the dracil sitting alone, "What do you mean tell the truth?"  His eyes narrowed and he scowled at the half-elf who'd been so frustrating, "Ye've not been lyin' to us, now have ye?"  His voice fell into a thick accent and the collected dwarves glowered dangerously.

Nothing could quite match the ire of a dwarf who found out he'd been played for a fool.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:12, Thu 13 Feb 2020.

Merrick winced on the inside.  ...something, something, get involved... he chided darkly to himself.

"Oh I don't think so," the young man interjected quickly, as he attempted to get ahead of the dwarves' tempers.  "He's probably new.  And honestly the tax code...well.. it's not exactly simple...or coherent," he added in a disparaging tone near the end.

"Although..." Merrick continued a moment later, as he winced and scratched his head in an apparently painful attempt to jog his memory.  "Chapter 2, Article 4... paragraph 2, no 3(g).  Right? No. Yes!  I think your business does fit within the exception Master Dwarf, unless you disagree," Merrick declared looking to the half-elf and hoping the man has the good sens to take the out he was given.

It was hard not to look.  The big one just drew the eye.  Brought back memories too.  The tread of heavy feet still walked the hallways of her mind.  Funny how the small ones seemed to be more deadly.  There just seemed to be more evil in them.  Of course, Daddy designed them that way.

Bunny dragged back her attention from the big black creature and the argument between the dwarves and the Halfie, placing it back with great deliberation upon Lissabytta and the prospective expedition.

"Ah..." the Half was quickly weighing his options and the one provided by Merrick seemed preferable to that being offered by the dwarves.  "I think you're right."  He nodded, recovering.  "Yes, of course; millers are exempted when they're traveling without cargo."  He slapped his forehead, "I can't believe I didn't remember.  It, ah,"  He turned to the dwarves, "seems that your party is clear to use the road, Master Dwarf.  Now that's been cleared up, I have other matter to attend."  He left the table quite hurriedly, exiting out the front door and leaving the building for the evening gloom.

The dwarf patriarch snorted as he left and his group still appeared none to pleased.  But the proprietor of the Roc's Roost showed some foresight when he was already on his way to their table with a tray of pints.  "Compliments of the house gentlemen."  The dark-skinned man smiled as he set the beers before the dwarves, "Talking about taxes always puts a bad taste in the mouth, yes?"

He then guided Merrick back to his table, setting a pint of the house beer out for him as well.  "For the amusing show,"  He chuckled, clearly aware of the game of cons that had just been played out, "Caleb does not often get put in his place such.  I think it is good for him, eh?"  He laughed.

"So tell me,"  He said to Merrick, indicating the dracil who had returned to his sketchbook at another table.  "You two are together?"  He asked, "I cannot imagine a better straight-man."

"Not that I know of friend," Merrick relied kindly enough to the bartender as he picked up the new mug.  There was something about free beer that just tasted better- probably the free part of it.  "I'd think I remember an associate that size," the young man added with a smirk.

"All's well that ends well though... well except I'm fairly certain their's no such thing as a noise tax, or a lantern tax," Merrick commented, muttering that last part so the dwarves couldn't overhear.  "Always hire a local to help you navigate the swamp - yes," he repeated the old saying as he raised his cup to the bartender and gave a knowing look.

Zassil seemed to be still engrossed in his book, sketching away. There was, however, a slight smirk to his lips when the toll collection attempt was sent awry and things de-escalated. The drawing was of the dwarves taking up utensils and mugs as weapons against the very evil and snide looking half-elf who didn't seem to realize the danger he was in yet.

He paused and took a drink from mug. He also took the opportunity to reclaim the two gold coins and slide them back in to his pouch.