Sharn orders a second ale and looks over the two who have joined the table.

"What talents do you bring with you if we join up?"

"I am small and able to move about without being noticed when I have a mind to remain unseen," Lannie replies matter-of-factly. "I also something of an amateur gemologist!" he proudly adds.

He waits to see what effect, if any, his statements will have on the party members.

Ullian says nothing as he contemplates how he feels about a little competition . . .

"I may not look it at the moment," Rigya said of her own profession, "but I used to be a soldier.  I have mail and shield in my room.

"It's not like I'm going to wear it everywhere," she added.  Though it did seem like a lot of adventuring folk did wear their armor everywhere and have everything they owned packed on their back at all times.

She'd even seen some imbecile with a 10' pole strapped to his pack trying to get through a doorway once.  He just couldn't figure out what the problem was.

Sharn rolls her eyes, "Great, a female soldier, just what we need".

Though not terribly attractive, Sharn is clearly female, and does, by and by, have on her armor and an 7 foot bardiche leaning against the table.  However, she gives a shy smile to indicate a rather dry jest.

Rigya was at first nonplussed by the orc's comment, but more surprised by the fact that it seemed to have been in jest.  Granted, she had little dealings with the race, or rather none to be completely truthful, but this was an interesting discovery.

Though, obviously, it wouldn't stop her from skewering any orcs found in the wild.  She doubted swinging one's club or axe around was their own interpretation of a jest.

"As we have a working plan for tomorrow -- as it seems too late to politely call on the blacksmith -- the next order of business is lodgings.  And perhaps entertainment.  We've been told there are better places than this for the former, and I can't imagine the same isn't true for the latter.  Shall we excuse ourselves to the Drunken Cockatrice?"

Lannie sucks in air between his teeth and comments, "I like to take my meals at the Cockatrice, coin well spent, but if you ask me two gold is a bit steep for a single night's stay. I don't care how soft the beds might be!"

With that, he swishes around the last of the thin beer and finishes it in a single gulp. He then gestures to the serving girl for another.

For his part, Lannie says he already has a room at the Cask and Flagon.

Ullian looks around at the morgue-like atmosphere.

"And where do you go for fun?  Cards, dice, darts, and the like at least."

"Cockatrice or Three Kegs are nice for that sort of thing," Lannie says.

The halfling looks around the room and sadly comments, "Local folk just don't seem to be in the mood for revelry and fun-making, with what happened to one of their own, and all."

"I suppose you're right," Ullian says, conceding the point.  Turning to the others, he says:

"Well, what'll it be?  I prefer the most luxury I can afford, but if Lannet here has already gotten a room . . . well, I doubt they'll refund his money."

Ullian's disfavor for the extraneous thief grows a little, mollified a little by the hope that there may not be enough rooms for everyone.  Although, I don't imagine a slew of people 'r clamoring to get in here, he cautions himself.

"Stay where you will," Rigya said, "but I have a room here as well.  We can meet here in the morning to go see the Blacksmith for information on where his daughter might have been headed."

The place was a sight better than some of the bivouacs she'd slept in.

Sharn smiles, "Luxury sounds good to me, first the best drinks, then the finest rooms and dinner.  Let's try the local ale at the Kegs and then get a room and dinner at the Cockatrice, that is, if they'll serve me.   All this orc trouble might lead them to not appreciate my looks.  But I'll risk it if you will Ullian, my gold is real enough..."

"Tomorrow, I'd like to visit the captain of the guard and Shandril as well as the blacksmith, no since putting all our eggs in one basket".

"Sure thing," Ullian says eagerly.  He'd pretty much decided that if anyone was going to the more luxurious lodgings, he was going too.

Plus, Sharn had a point: probably best if she wasn't alone.

"I'll make sure no one bother you," Clatsi piped up, indicating that he would follow along with Sharn and Ullian. Whether he was joking or deluded remained to be seen.

The little gnome was dying for some luxury after the ugly time on the road.

Clatsi, Sharn, and Ullie finish their meal and drink before taking their leave of the Cask and Flagon, and Lannie and Rigya. Their next stop is The Tavern of Three Kegs of the west end of the village. Three Kegs, much livelier place than the Cask and Flagon, is a cheerful halfling-owned and operated tavern with excellent brew and no shortage of games of chance, skill, and the like.

Lannie was spot-on. The ale here is much more expensive (1 silver per pint), but worth the extra price if one has the coin to spare. Any inquiries about rooms to let are met with flat refusals by the tavern’s proprietor, Perik, who visibly wrinkles his nose in disgust if questioned on the matter, almost as though the prospect of letting out rooms is akin to finding dog feces on the bottom of one’s boots. Fortunately, his serving girl, Delia, more than makes up for the owner’s lack of charm is quick with the refills and even quicker with witty banter. At one point, unbidden, she comments, “If you fancy yourselves adventurers, I imagine you will soon be pressed upon by Lannet. When you see him, tell him he owes me for those beers! You can also tell him I am of a mind to drum his head if he doesn’t pay, and soon!” She says this in a playful tone, but there is also an edge of seriousness in her voice. “Mind that one, you should…” she cautions before moving off to attend to another patron.

Sharn notices more than a few second glances cast her way, to include a few hushed conversations here or there, but nobody goes out of their way to openly confront her. Understandably, people are nervous given recent events, but perhaps the locals are open-minded enough to recognize the fact not all half-orcs are bloodthirsty savages and some few contain enough human blood to temper their bloodlust. Maybe the locals are just too scared to give voice to the thoughts that may be running through their mind? In any event, Sharn is not harassed.

After they have had their fill of drink, the party finds their way to the Drunken Cockatrice Inn. Stepping inside they find it to be much more pleasant than the Cask and Flagon. The common room is well furnished, clean, and the air is filled with the smell of delicious food. Here rooms let for 2 gold pieces per night and the evening meal is 2 silver pieces.

Shortly after the adventurers arrive at the Drunken Cockatrice, a very drunk local farmer, Fendrin, stumbles over to their table and proceeds to slur a barely coherent tale involving a winged monster, his wife, and his son, before collapsing onto the floor into drunken unconsciousness. Several locals rush to Fendrin’s aid and carry him off, presumably to sleep off his drunk elsewhere. The inn’s regulars shake their head with pity before eventually resuming their evening activities.

If the adventurers raise any questions about Fendrin, a local will relate the following sad tale:

Fendrin’s wife and son were captured by a manticore six months ago while working in their fields. Fendrin armed himself with a longbow and shot at the manticore as it flew off with his family. Fendrin’s arrow struck his wife and slayed her with a single shot. The manticore dropped Fendrin’s son and he fell to his death. Fendrin blames himself for what happened and has turned to the bottle to drown his sorrows.

After hearing the tale, Clatsi shared his thoughts with Ullian and Sharn. "The drunk is really not to blame. If he hadn't killed his family, the manticore surely would've." He took a drink. "The region is fraught with dangers. Gnolls, orcs, manticore. Vampire. Of course these folk couldn't tell a vampire from a lich if they met one in a mirrored alley, and of course there's no lich anyway. The real dangers are inducing figments in the brains of these folks, I say."

He ate the meal with deliberation, enjoying being inside with well prepared food, and he enjoyed his room -- after ensuring the windows were shuttered and secure and the door properly locked and clambering around with his arms outstretched waving around to ensure there were no invisible devils lurking in the chamber. In secret, he checked repeatedly on the amulet -- it was still here, thank the gods -- and he was slow to sleep, but the comfort of the bed was something to enjoy even awake.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:40, Sat 27 Nov 2021.

The adventurers eventually find their way to their rooms and settle in for the night..

***

First light comes all too early and with it, the noise of waking employees and patrons throughout the inn, to say nothing of the sounds of the village coming to life. The adventurers have a busy day planned and seem uninterested in enjoying the leisure and luxury their bounty money can provide. Such is the way of adventurers...

First order of business is a meeting with the captain of the town guard. To this end, the party is directed to the Tower of the Guard, a stone watchtower atop the village's highest hill. Approaching the tower, the party sees three town guards atop the tower and two lounging outside the tower's sturdy, iron-reinforced front door. After announcing their business to one of the guards, the party is admitted inside, where they find a handful of guards finishing their morning meal in the mess hall, among them, Baran.

"My men tell me you have brought more ill news from the Tradeway." His tone, like his general demeanor is stern. A few moments after introductions, the adventurers notice Baran has no right hand. His right arms ends in a grisly stump of scar tissue.

"I would hear whatever you have to say..." he brusquely says.

Presumably, the party relates information about the burned waystation, Hallas' family, the half-orc brigands, the skeletons, the imp/raven, Vortigern the Necromancer, Sir Rodegar, the gnolls, missing pilgrims, Ga-awoo-tarr. It is much for Baran to process and the mood within the room darkens as each grim fact is laid bare.

"Ill news indeed," Baran growls. The mess hall is filled with awkward silence for a short time before posing a question:

"Why were you bound to Fairhill?"

"Nearest point of civilization, really.  Also, heard tell of trouble, and thought we'd strike out this way and, erm, see if we could help."

Baran tugs at his well-trimmed beard while considering Ullie's response. The man is visibly suspicious of the elf's response, or, perhaps this is just how he always is. "Yes. I suppose so. Goodly adventurers passing through, seeking to help where they may," he replies, his tone brusque and curt.

Off to the side, his lieutenant, a fair-skinned woman carefully watches the proceedings, her attention primarily directed at Baran. She remains silent throughout, but her demeanor suggests something is amiss.

She looks at each adventurer in turn, her countenance less hard-edged than her captain's

Baran continues, "Well, welcome to Fairhill, where trouble indeed brews..." He proceeds to tell the adventurers if they wish to help, the village could use their aid scouring the countryside in search of the warcamp. Baran says he will pay 1 gold piece per orc head and a bonus of 100 gold pieces if the party brings the head of their chieftain, Nagrod. Finally, he suggests the party solicit the aid of the Dwarves of the Shattered Axe, a trio of dwarves who are presently staying at the Cask and Flagon.

"Now, if you would, I have business to attend," he says, cutting the meeting short.

OOC: Please feel free to ask any questions, etc. otherwise, we will proceed to blacksmith next.

Rigya was nonplussed that they had not gone first to the Blacksmith as was their agreement the previous night.  It seemed these new three would do what they will.  She would have to consider that in the future if plans were made where her life might be in danger.

Nonetheless, they would soon be headed to the blacksmith and what she believed the easier job of tracking down a wayward daughter, dead or alive.

Ullian approaches the lieutenant.

"Good morning, m'lady; I had an additional question that you might be able to help me with.

We'd heard that the blacksmith's daughter, Arialle, left with a band of adventurers but has not been heard from.  We'd thought to perhaps help look for her, and I was wondering: did this band of adventurers stop by here, as we did, before heading out of town?"

"They did not," she replies. "But, Arialle did not strike out hunting orcs. Against her father's wishes, she joined a small group of adventurers who had their eyes set on delving an ancient ruined tower in the foothills of the Stoneheart Mountains."

"I have seen the tower in the distance on patrols, but have never ventured close. It lies atop a saddle overlooking a broad valley east of Coldfell's headwaters."

She pauses a moment before adding, "That valley is a sacred place to the Loreclans. The site of a great battle between giants and men, long ago. Rumored to be haunted by the ghosts of both."

OOC: The Loreclans are the horse-riding people of the great grassland region immediately west of Fairhill. Fareme is the eastern extent of their lands.

Clatsi Clatterstones trailed along with Ullian and the others, distracted by a litany of his own thoughts and concerns and adding to the list of troubles that might distract the small company of adventurers from the task at hand -- exploring the wizard's ruined keep.

He only spoke to mutter to himself, and no one who did not speak gnomish would understand his words, even if they heard them.

"Are we done here, now?" Rigya asked of the elf.  She was anxious to speak with someone that might actually pay them more than pocket change for their services.

How many orc heads could you feasibly fit in a large sack, anyway?  What a hassle.