After untold adventures and experiences, some rewarding and some nigh devastating, you find yourself in the city of Caeritso, located toward the eastern edge of the somewhat unfortunately -- though appropriately -- named region of Dungshire.

Caeritso is a small city, with a population of just more than 8,000 citizens. The local population is primarily human, with some elves, though the elves are a vast minority. A minor trading outpost along the Livadian River, the city is halved by the winding course of the river; on one bank -- the eastern -- the Hydra's Ward, and on the other -- the western -- the Armorer's Ward, punctuated by the Day Market toward the northern wall.

Additional residents (again, mostly human, and some elven) live outside the walls of Caeritso, mostly along the river just beyond the southern wall -- a small enclave of river-going elves -- and along Godstep Road, which heads easterly.

You have been in Caeritso for 2d4 days, and if you so choose, you can post here establishing (a) how long you've been here, (b) what adventures and misadventures have come before (no impact on game, just for storytelling kicks), (c) what brings you to Caeritso (again, no impact on game), and (d) how you've occupied your time in the city so far. Be as fun and colorful as you so feel!

You can also make any appropriate History, Investigation, Perception, and other such rolls to see what else you've learned or know about the city. And if there's any other character-creation or equipment-procurement you need to do, there is a small city about you. It has shops and such.

Five days.

Noon sat their outside the tavern, a dim and dingy establishment in the Hydra's Ward by name of Keep Out, on the bench, straight-backed, a mug neatly between both hands. In the vessel was mead, mixed with tea leaves from his mother's cupboard. It tasted of home, and now gave way to the flavor of loss. It wasn't yet noon, and Noon was on his third drink.

Five days, and I haven't seen them. Soufi should have been there by now, would have been heard down the road of this empty city, blathering on with excuses for being late, flashing a smile as sharp as a blade. Any minute now he'd hear that bozo brag about how they fought off those giants, how their separation in the caves did little to deter their navigational prowess. They'd boast about how they showed up like they promised and how Noon was wise to listen to their advice. To run away.

Even now, Noon prayed that's what he'd heard. The walls of rocks from the cave-in that had separated him from his cousin seemed to smother every other word. It was just Noon's luck that the giants were on Soufi's side of the wall. Some sounds did come through clearly: Loud foot stomping, Soufi's mad laughter, something crunching. Very loudly.

Soufi's promise that they would see each other again was what stayed with him. As per tradition, when Turners were separated on the job, they waited five middays at the closest town tavern. Turners didn't tend to show up on time, but hours were more significant than days.

And Soufi, despite their carefree nature, was never late.

"Just a little longer," he muttered. His nimble fingers scratched at his scalp, catching the golden loc-coutrements in the glow of the ascendant sun. "That chodi-kufat owes me a drink." He took a long pull of his mug, hoping that the drink would steady his nerves. Had there been a moistness to that sickening sound? Was that Soufi's work? Was that Soufi's demise?

The sun shifted to its peak, though the clouds did not seem to relent.

Soufi wouldn't make it.

Noon prayed he heard it all right.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:37, Thu 12 Nov 2020.

Eight Days

Charinida has been in Caeritso for over eight days now and on some of those days she went to visit her long time friend the Magistrati and hope that he might enlighten her on some of the things that he has been doing over the years.

Dressed in a nice Robe that was of dark blue in color with some gold and white trimming.  Around her neck was an amulet of rainbow patterns.  Her steps were carefully placed upon the ground as if destiny was guiding her every step.  As she approached the home of the Magistrati she gave a silent prayer to the Goddesses and asked for their guidance.

Knocking upon the door she waited for someone to answer, hoping that Argent hasn't been wed yet and a surprise to her.

Four Days

Gorrim had retired from a mercenary band after a recent and exceptionally bloody Pyrrhic victory against the drow in the mountains. It's taken weeks to get the taste of drider out of his mouth, but in a place named 'Dungshire', it wasn't exactly a step in the direction he'd hoped for...

Still, he'd come here on a chance meeting of an old friend who was here to settle a grudge of sorts. Fellow named Zwangy or some such stole a boat from him! Good enough reason to track the old mucker down. Besides, a good clouting is just the thing to get one's mind off of days past.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:53, Fri 13 Nov 2020.

Three Days

Three stinkin, flea-bitten, sweat grubbin days.

Now look, Hiram didn't have that much a grudge against Zhuang Yi, even with the dwarven predilection for grudges. Far from it. He understood why that belly-scratchin two-bit mongrel cur would steal his ship, since Hiram had done the same thing once or twice before to other pluggers. But it was just bad for business, because now this sorta thing had to be sorted out so that all the players could be square. Even-Stevens. So everything else had to be put on hold, with suppliers gettin ancy and buyers gettin impatient, all so Hiram could sit down to a little chat with Zhuang Yi.

He just had to find the bugger first.

Caeritso seemed like the kind of dig Zhuang Yi would make use of. Out of the way, not too big, not too many officials to take official notice, but not so small that you needed to have a connection to the dockmaster before he accepted a bribe to keep quiet.

So that's what Hiram had been doing: trying to figure out which one of these up-jumped burgher bumpkins had palmed Yi's coin and erased his shipping records from the register. Find that guy, make him squeal, and bam: there's the trajectory to the next port. But the problem with corrupt city officials is they don't bloody well hang a shingle, and don't much care for strangers coming round sniffing out their dirty laundry.

So after pulling into town on a cart -- he, Hiram Glasgie, on a cart! -- made a social call to one Millicent Hidge, a halfling as wide as she was tall, but never a better forger or cook you'd meet. Retired, of course, and a grandmother to boot, whose fortunes had gone more-or-less straight since they last met long time ago in Virmauwan. She'd put him up in the attic for the duration of his stay here, hopefully not too long a stay, and poured about 2 gallons of stew down his gullet saying something about puttin some meat onto his frame. Twenty-eight grandkids and this woman still needed an outlet for her mothering.

So that's been nice.

Not so nice has been the progress or lack thereof on which cricket is on Zhuang Yi's payroll. He needed some way to get in with that bunch. Earn their trust. Get them to put their guard down. And when that happened... well, there was a reason he'd asked Gorrim to meet him here. Hiram was still quick on his feet, but three months of Graemwilk fever following an infected grick bite leaves a dwarf a bit weak. No matter. Gorrim was the kind of dwarf a dwarf could rely on. He knew about grudges. The nice thing about Gorrim? With him around, when you ask politely, folk tend to respond polite, too. No need to ask hard. That's much better for business.

Yup. Just needed to find a way to do a body a favor.