You're all gathered at the Candlekeep inn. It's early evening on the 1st of Mirtul in the year 1368 and outside the smell of spring mix with the ocean winds. You sit by a table together with Imoen, your childhood friend. At the other tables you see mostly the usual crowd: Firebead Elvenhair, the elderly Phlydia is reading in a corner. The watchmen Hull and Reevor are armwrestling but you know that they will have to leave for their posts soon. There are a few strangers as well but this isn't unusual: nobles, probably, that can afford the steep entry fee.

Max sits at the table, nibbling on cheese and meat while he drinks his ale. His friends all sit around him. "So, anybody got a clue as to why Gorion is being so distant, I haven't a clue. How long til we get a clue do you think?" he asked them all. "What about Puffguts Imo? He acting odd too, or is it just Gorion?" He says with a grin, using her nickname for her teacher.

Clay is smiling faintly to himself enjoying the company of his friends as ever.  He said as much.  "Sorry Max, not a clue.  Maybe it's one of those weird things he does.  You know, like something happens in Shou or Maztica or maybe somewhere even more exotic and while we're all blissfully oblivious, he starts worrying and fretting like he has the weight of the stars on his shoulders."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:55, Mon 04 Mar.

Imoen takes a sip from her ale and leans forward conspiratorially. "Say, did you hear Reevor hasn't gotten all the rats yet? I heard Ulraunt complain about it the other day. There's more rats every day! Winthrop said they're stealing from his stores even."

"Hmm, that isn't good either. Where are they coming from, and why can't they get rid of them? Soon they'll be nesting in the library!" Max didn't care to hear that news!

"I dunno where they come from but I hear there's a lot in the storehouse. Uh oh, he's looking this way," Imoen says and quickly looks away from the watchman, "don't let him catch you nosing about or he'll task you to get the rats."

Clay grinned. "We could always OFFER to do so for a price.   If we do that, maybe he can task somebody else to do it for nothing, or he can pay us."

Imoen chuckles, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "I like the way you think, Clay. But knowing Reevor, he'll try to be stingy about it. We should make sure to negotiate a fair payment upfront before we agree to anything. I'm not about to risk my neck for a handful of coppers."

"I hear you girl, my life is worth a lot more than a few coppers to me!" he replied. "It would take serious gold for that!"

Clay grinned and said, "I was thinking more the lines of letting him offer someone else half of what we ask for so we don't have to do it at all."

Imoen chuckles. "Sure, but which one of the puffguts are going to do it you think? Tethoril, or Hull? No, no one here is going down the storehouse cellars to hunt rats." She raises her mug. "Here's to us, doin all of the legwork around here."

 "Yeah..." Enigma pulls at her ale.  "Mm...!  Gods, this hits the spot.  I feel like, if they want us to do it, they ought to pay us on... on a sliding scale." She ponders this for a long moment, before taking another drink.  "With terms and conditions."

"Terms? Listen here ye little rugrats, I asked one of ye -don't remember which one- ta clear the rats out two days ago." Reevor, apparantly having heard at least part of your conversation approaches your table, tankard in hand. The heavy-set dwarven watchman takes a deep gulp. "Here's my terms. If you go down into the storehouse cellar and take care of the rat problem I'll give you ten gold pieces each. How's that?"

Clay grins. "That's umm... actually that's very generous boss."

"And I think we'll accept the terms as well! I'm practically broke and need coin bad!" Max jovially smiles and replies to Reevor!

 Enigma's eyebrows arch.  "That sounds reasonable."

The dwarf grunts, swallows the last of his ale and wipes his mouth with the sleeve of a stained uniform. "Gorion raised ye well. Let me know when yer done then. Hull! Let's go to the battlement." He turns and together the two watchmen leave the inn.
This message was last updated by the GM at 11:52, Fri 08 Mar.

As the watchmen leave for their post two more of Gorion's wards, Malus and Niall, walk through the door.

With a light step and an easy smile Malus stepped through the doorway of the Candlekeep Inn, eyes sweeping through the crowded tables until his eyes settled on the found family he had come to know so well all these years. Behind him he noticed Niall and gave him a friendly nod, pausing until he could clap him on the shoulder.

“Seems the gangs all here, already. Fashionably late we are,” he spoke with a somewhat deep voice, before setting off to the table. The magic-user was dressed in an array of bright clothing, a crimson shirt- half unbuttoned by design-, multi-hued scarf loosely wrapped about his neck, a thick blue kilt and bright yellow wool socks with tough brown leather boots completed his ensemble. In his hand, as always, was clutched his gnarled wooden staff he used as a walking stick.

Arriving at said table he gave everyone a hearty, “Good day,” before sliding over a chair not being used and looked among his friends, “So what’s today’s events like?”

"Reevor said he'd give us drinking money for killing the rats in the storeroom! Ten gold each! A very generous reward indeed!" He informed the newcomers upon their arrival.

Following Malus in was Niall, the Paladin of Torm glad to see his friends again. He cut an imposing figure, handsome, tall and wearing plate armor, the holy symbol of his order hanging off of a simple steel chain around his neck, and his tabard also emblazoned with the order's symbol. He took a seat. How is everyone doing on this fine day? he asked as he joined them.

Clay grinned. "It's a lovely day and all the better now we're getting paid so three cheers for the bossman." Claymade no attempt to get anyone to join in. He knew by now that he didn't have the charisma to start anything from a round of applause to a cheer.  So it went.

"Oi Imoen, the kitchen is full of dirt dishes! No dawdling," Winthrop calls from behind the bar. Imoen grimaces and makes her excuses. "Looks like I'll have to sit this one out. See you later," she says and moves into the kitchen.

"We can wait Im, or if you could use a bit of help? I can lend a hand." he tells her. She acted the child and little sister, but she was more grown than most realized. She just liked to have fun and enjoy herself a bit.