As the days prior, the morning brought naught but darkness. Naerth had risen early to immediately throw on his jacket, finding little time for breakfast. He'd meet Mallory at the square to settle the matters of the Trolls in a half-hours time, stating he'd bring aid for the dissection.

Dannika had awoken disheveled and with a minor case of a throbbing head. Ethen sat a kettle of remedying herbal tea atop the rack while Hlin shuffled to kindle the fire. After the brew had been brought to a boil, Dannika humbly accepted an extended cup, remaining to idly steep in the warmth of the hearth.

Soon thereafter Alma checked in and Dannika stirred, for the ranger brought news that the expedition to Bryn Shander would be departing within the hour. The trip could be stalled if need be, but not for long — many of the merchants with shared fates were impatient and had prepared and packed already under the promise of an early morning departure. Dannika set aside her cup and hastened to shove her stray items into her satchel before hopping into her many layers of woolen clothing. Before long, she was all bundled up at the doorstep, lantern slung over her shoulder, and ready to brave the grueling cold once again.

---

You get a Long Rest and level up.


The onus is on you to figure out where to go and what to do next. Perhaps it could be discussed in the OOC, and I can weigh in if you have any questions. The way I see it, you have four options:

1. Stay in Targos for a while longer.
   
2. Leave with the caravan for Bryn Shander.
   
3. Leave for Termalaine.
   
4. Leave for Bremen.

This message was last edited by the GM at 21:41, Tue 24 Aug 2021.

One of the few benefits of the biting cold was that it limited the decomposition of what would in other parts of the world have been two rank Trolls. They still smelled, but it wasn't something a pinch of the nose couldn't block. Which was exactly what Triglio, the little Halfling with the top hat, did as he stood atop the back of the larger one.

A few of the fishermen had been conscripted, Thorben among them, and came prepared with wheelbarrows, hacksaws, ropes, hooks, knives, and any other equipment one might need for dismembering and dissecting such large and foul beasts. None of them seemed particularly delighted about the task.

"How long will this take?" Naerth shouted from a distance. Cold or no cold, he was not risking Troll stench on his jacket.

"The day, I would reckon. Perhaps we can be done before supper," Triglio answered, wading through the sea of mottled hair. "Though I doubt it."

"Triglio's laid claim to the big one," Naerth explained to Mallory when she arrived, "but I've talked him into splitting the fat." Triglio, in the background, had sent his force to work. It seemed his strategy was somewhat reminiscent of Mallory's — after flipping it, he had started to methodically bleed it, emptying the blood into barrels. From there he went about carefully extracting the innards and cutting flesh from bone.

After imparting his workforce instructions, they achieved some degree of autonomy. For a time. Both instruments and techniques were crude, but they did what they could with the tools they'd brought. It was enough for Triglio to catch a breath, remove his bloodstained gloves, and ring up Torgrim.

---

"Hand crossbow?" Triglio asked, scanning his plentiful shelves. Each was stocked to the brink and then some, and the Halfling carried all sorts of common wares, equipment, doodads, trinkets, and weaponry one might otherwise only find in an armory. Some of it doubtlessly arcane in nature. Everything had piled up over the years, and only Triglio knew if there was any sort of system. And, peculiarly, the store had always appeared rather large compared to its humble exterior. One was advised caution when browsing, lest you'd be crushed by crates, or worse yet, trip some magical device. "You are in indeed in luck — I carry an assortment of various kinds." He held up a crossbow on the lighter side, even when hand crossbows were considered. "It all entirely depends on what you have to spend — this one, for example, is one of my finer ones. An intricate piece of equipment, this is. One can detach the grip and mount the barrel to this," he continued, showcasing a leather vambrace with straps to slot the crossbow. "Quite nifty. And the limbs fold. Handy if you want to, say, slip your sleeve over it. Not that I know why anybody would want that . . . A hundred gold. I can part with something more ordinary for eighty-five. And then there's the matter of bolts, of course. A case of wooden ones would be three gold pieces."
This message was last edited by the GM at 09:05, Wed 01 Sept 2021.

Mallory, it seemed, had little luck when it came to gaining a restful night.

When Naerth rallied himself to join in the square with the other volunteers to manage the Trolls, he'd find the young noblewoman herself looking as much a half-frozen corpse herself.  Bundled up heavily against the cold, agitated with having needed to fuss with negotiations and pandering to the caravan drivers to not just leave them behind, and still with heavy, dark rings beneath her eyes.  Eye, rather.  For whatever reason Mallory wore a length of cloth wrapped across her face to completely cover her left eye and hand draped her long, black hair in such a manner as to disguise the apparent bandaging.  Whatever injury she'd taken during the night didn't seem to slow her down though, even if she saw fit to cover it up.

"Well, you and Mister Triglio will be getting the lion's share to begin with.  I need to travel light, so whatever doesn't come with me, I'll leave to you lot to sell off in my stead.  I'd appreciate a fair cut of the resulting coin set aside." Mallory had to draw close to Naerth to be heard over the whistling wind and he could hear the deadpan in her tone.  Clearly she didn't expect to see any such coin in the future; if Naerth did indeed decide to actually set aside a cut, it would be a genuine surprise to her.

It was both a case of needing to travel light and needing to work fast that limited what Mallory could truly gain from the Troll she was granted.  Though she took very easily - perhaps too much so - to a management position in ordering about those volunteers who'd come to help with the whole messy affair, she wasn't a layabout.  She showed those on her team where to cut and the best places to get at the core, precious components she was most after without needing to fuss about with more time-consuming carving ahead of time.  No need to saw through bristly, matted hair that was like wire when it was quicker to drag deep incisions alongside the Trolls' mane and patches through the skin, then peel away hide from muscle outright to take the whole lot together.  When it came to gathering the creature's heart, it was a two-pronged approach; the belly was opened midway up the curvature of the ribcage where hangs could reach inside through the muck and grip the enormous muscled organ while Mallory showed she wasn't squeamish in dissection by going through an incision made at the collarbone.  Elbow deep into the torso with a knife in hand, where she could sever the lining around the heart and allow her assistant to pull the whole thing free from below.  Skinned hide and gathered hair was cleaned with flickering waves of her cleansing cantrip, bundled and rolled tight in twine for transport, while various organs and portions of flesh were packed tightly into earthen jars with vinegar - a mild enough acid to ensure that any latent regenerative properties of the flesh would be stunted without the flesh itself being destroyed in the preservation process.  Blood would need to be stored in a number of smaller casks for the sake of her being able to actually manage carrying them at all (very clearly labeled and branded with warnings of toxic contents to avoid any mishaps, as well), while bits like claws, teeth, and portions of bone were gathered aside in a satchel all their own.

It was a grim and filthy business, but one Mallory approached with an air of utter professionalism.  Even being matted with slush-frozen blood didn't give her pause as she simply whisked herself clean with a surge of cleansing magic every few moments, and the same convenience was afforded all those busy at work in the meantime for as long as she could linger.

---

Arcana for Troll Dissection
Mallory uses her Portent to roll a 14
20 total for the skill check

"The coin will be set aside," Naerth answered. "Once we've found a buyer for all of this . . ." The tone in his voice hinted at skepticism. As for Mallory's requests of wares, Triglio was more than willing to share of his inventory, supplying jars, casks, and preservative substances. For a steep cut of her share, of course. Dannika had some containers in reserve, but she had not outfitted herself for an entire Troll's harvest.

"That reminds me," Naerth continued and procured a coin pouch from his jacket. It was far from as full from those he had provided yesterday evening, but weighty in its own right. Opening it to find gold instead of silver and copper certainly helped its cause.* "Hopefully that settles things. And if not, there's more to come."

---

*The pouch contains 20 gold pieces.

Triglio's efforts to slip expenses onto Mallory's share were met with an immediate counter and afforded the two merchants a quick spat there in the snow; little more than curt back-and-forth statements of value over a matter of seconds before an agreement of some kind apparently was reached.

---

Persuasion to haggle with Triglio, in case it was necessary
Mallory Bonheur rolled 18 using 1d20+3

---

When presented with a small purse of gold, Mallory spared a cursory peek inside before it was spirited away into her breast pocket.  "It's a fair advisory fee, I would say.  And if you have trouble finding buyers for all this, do tug on my sleeve; I happen to know quite a few interested parties in my own circles."  Only Arcanists like herself would find value in such gore, after all, and it took one to know one.  "If nothing else, rendered Troll fat makes fantastically long-burning lamp oil on the mundane market so long as you mix something in to mask the smell."

The bargaining concerned commodities with as-of-yet appraised values, for wares Triglio had plenty of, and he seemed to delight in obfuscating the details if it served him. If Mallory hadn't been on top of her game she might have not caught his subtle tricks and missed the fact that he, rather intentionally, was revising previously agreed allotments of fat on the fly and often quoted values well out of market range with the sole aim of skewing the middle-ground in his favor. But in the end, Triglio offered up what appeared like a fair deal, content with the feud in and of itself. Even if this was not an opponent he could run circles around.

---

Mallory Persuasion [18] against Triglio's Persuasion [9]: Triglio might have read the handbook, but so has Mallory.

Not much we can say here aside from "Mallory struck a good deal". Her chips are her allotment (unless she wants to pay for the wares outright), and Triglio will be selling much of that anyway, as Mallory can't bring an entire Troll with her. If it hadn't been for the fact that Naerth had stepped in, Triglio would of course just have considered it forfeit. But all this has been commented on, and Mallory won't see any of the profit for at least a good while.

---

"It's a fair advisory fee, I would say.  And if you have trouble finding buyers for all this, do tug on my sleeve; I happen to know quite a few interested parties in my own circles."
"I trust Triglio's expertise," Naerth answered. "And his loyalty. In a way. Let's say it's unlikely he'll try to stiff us."

During the encounter, Mallory's eye had revealed precisely nothing magical about the shaggy Halfling. The Troll's heart glowed, however, so the detection was not at fault. But Triglio had no aura, neither Halfling nor top hat.

"Quite nifty. And the limbs fold. Handy if you want to, say, slip your sleeve over it. Not that I know why anybody would want that..."

As expected when speaking with the well-connected, Torgrim ignored the halfling's insinuation and continued diligently studying the crossbow. "I must admit, it's a fine piece." He picked up the slotted vambrace and proceeded to study it from every angle. "Slightly wrong color for me, but I suppose it could be stored away under a sleeve like you say."

"A hundred gold. I can part with something more ordinary for eighty-five. And then there's the matter of bolts, of course. A case of wooden ones would be three gold pieces."

"Now, you know as well as I do that money like that rarely makes it way into the hands of musicians and minstrels like us, and especially not in a place like Targos. I'll give you 90 gold for these beauties and a case of bolts, as well as the knowledge that you've helped keep a fellow lover of the arts safe on the roads of the Dale."

Persuasion: 12 using 1d20+7.
This message was last edited by the player at 22:34, Wed 01 Sept 2021.

At least the cold is good for something," Rhydd muttered as he used a big skinning knife to assist Mallory in cutting up the dead Troll.

"This thing still stinks, but I'll wager that it would be much worse during the summer-time."

It was dirty, slimy, nasty work, and the outdoorsman was impressed that Mallory did not turn up her nose at what needed to be done.

"I must admit, I had no idea that there was so much value to be gained from a dead Troll, Lady Mallory," he said at one point.

"I damned sure wouldn't want to eat any part of it, and as for the uses that can be made from parts and pieces when it comes to magicks ... well, like I said, I had no idea."

Though she didn't recoil from the gore or even forging right into a half-frosted corpse by her own hand, it was purely a matter of professional focus that kept Mallory's bile down.  A sort of studious compartmentalization where one could mentally set aside their feelings for the sake of a necessary action, even if it might come back to catch them off their guard later on.  Still, one could never accuse her of being an idle noble who wouldn't first do herself what she asked of others.

"Years of study, Mister Maldhon, at the behest of my tutors and professors.  Dull, rote memorization and terrible-smelling dissections of all sorts of creatures, small and great.  Did you know there are one-hundred and fourteen different uses for the ichor of a Black Ooze?  It took me a month to memorize them all and I've never used a bit of it even once." Mallory recounted in a droll tone as she gripped at a portion of thick skin to peel it away while Rhydd worked a knife's edge between flesh and muscle.  "Trolls are actually of great value, particularly to alchemists.  Their flesh, blood, and fat can be rendered into... nngh... hold on, let me just get my boot here and... rendered into very potent restorative potions.  A mere liter of Troll blood is worth as much gold as a craftsman might earn for an entire year of labor.  Ice Trolls, such as these?  Their hair, bones, and organs are vital in the creation of cold-resistant enchantments." she grunted back as she needed a bit of extra leverage to pull a tough spot free before the entire sheet of flesh and dense, coarse fur could be cut completely loose and rolled into a tight bundle.

"You're certainly wise not to eat any, though.  There's an old cautionary lesson in a mining troupe south of Yartar who thought to use a captured Troll as a perpetual food source; severing portions of its body that its regenerative abilities would immediately replace.  Absolutely abhorrent, on its face, if practical." she recounted as she worked a tight knot of twine around the bundle to secure it for travel.  "I'll spare you the bombastically gruesome details but, needless to say, they were all dead in half a tenday as a result of their diet.  The reports after the fact contributed immensely to broader arcane understanding.  Explosively so, one might say."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:14, Thu 02 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 9):

Although Rhydd had heard of Black Oozes, he had never run into one in the Wilds. Which was fine with him.

He worked steadily as Lady Mallory spoke, using his skinning knife to good effect. "One hundred and fourteen?" he echoed the noblewomam

"Methinks you should have sought out a different tutor. Surely the most commonly-used fifty should have been sufficient."

He laughed out loud at Mallory's tale of the "explosive" misfortunes suffered by the group of miners who had apparently thought to save a little coin on rations by eating parts and pieces of perpetually-renewing Troll-flesh.

"The Wilds do not suffer fools and lackwits lightly -- or gladly. They are soon enough culled out of the mix, just as wolves and other predators make short work of the weak amongst a herd. In my opinion, weakness of the mind can oft-times be more deadly than weakness of the flesh."

He glanced over to the side, where the Troll's body parts that were deemed worthy of the effort to salvage them had been set out atop a waterproof tarp. "I noticed you paying particular attention to the heart of this monster," he remarked to Mallory,

"If you do not mind my asking, why is it more useful than, say, a random chunk of the flesh?"

Rhydd's mention of the wilds being less than forgiving with those foolish enough to challenge them brought a grimace out of Mallory, but it wasn't something she could deny either.  Even without supernatural blizzards being conjured by petty goddesses, the area of Icewind Dale had always been especially hazardous.  Bryn Shander was merely a few miles away; a distance she wouldn't hesitate to travel back south amid the civilized and guarded roads to outlaying towns surrounding Neverwinter, but would never dare trek on foot in the driving snows.

"Methinks you should have sought out a different tutor. Surely the most commonly-used fifty should have been sufficient."

"Try telling that to my tutor, or my father." she laughed despite herself.  "Don't mistake me; I'm grateful for the breadth of my education.  But should I ever hold tenure in academy, I'm going to make certain my lessons are far more entertaining."

With regards to the hearts, Mallory began: "Ah well, it's because--" her words cut short as she paused for a hasty look around.  Triglio was nowhere to be seen thanks to Torgrim's needs, though that alone wasn't enough to reassure Mallory entirely.  She shifted nearer Rhydd's side and lowered her voice, near enough for his ears only amid the bluster of the winds.  "It's because an Ice Troll's heart is uniquely dangerous and powerful; coveted by covens of Hags and curse-makers, but even alone it's a disaster waiting to happen.  Do you recall the freezing aura the Trolls exuded in life?  Its source is their heart and that innate magic runs berserk when improperly handled.  A severed Ice Troll's heart, interred undisturbed within broken earth, can summon a blizzard.  You could bury one in the middle of the Anauroch desert and freeze to death at high noon."  Nearby rested the stout earthenware jug, capped and bound, where the heart Mallory was granted was stored in vinegar.  Already the jar had become absolutely crusted in a dense layer of hoarfrost not from the atmosphere, but from the heart itself still exuding a supernatural chill.  She gestured vaguely about Targos' already frost-laden state.  "Surely you can imagine the devastation that would occur if these were to fall into the hands of Auril's followers, with the Ten-Towns in their current state?  The loss of life would be catastrophic."

Crafting tinctures and baubles from a magical creature's remains was one thing, but to think that the brutes they'd fought before could so readily yield a weapon of mass destruction?  A remarkable claim to say the least, but Mallory's demeanor offered no jest in the slightest.  "It's best that the hearts' true power remain hush, that they may simply be exported south for coin from the hands of apothecaries and enchanters of the Trade Routes, where they can do no harm."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:26, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

"Ninety-five. Or," Triglio countered, "a hundred-and-ten and I can throw in — hang on," he moved a stool, fetched a box to place on top, and balanced on both as he reached for one of the higher-up shelves. When he hopped back down he carried a metal case with a thick coating of dust, which Triglio blew away to reveal an engraving of a rain cloud on the lid. "These." He opened it to lay bare bolts streaked with shining blue veins, each laid finely within its own groove in their bed of dark felt. It was a set of three, except one was missing. "May the gods know where they came from . . . As you can see the set is incomplete, which is why I am willing to part with it for less than its worth. As to the effects, I know only I was blinded by a bright flash of light when I attempted to shoot one. The bolt went wide, never to be recovered. A shame, really. I haven't dared to shoot another, as I reckon they would fare far better in hands not quite so small and trembling."

---

Triglio counters with Persuasion [24!].
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 21:49, Fri 03 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 11):

In spite of the fact that Lady Mallory was smeareed with gore and Troll's blood, Rhydd found the noblewoman's momentary trilling mirth to be quite becoming. It occured to him that he had not often heard her laugh. ~~I'll wager that she doesn't oft-times let her hair down,~~ he found himself thinking.

His eyes grew wide in wonder as she explained the power hidden within the heart of an Ice-Troll. "Black gods!" he swore softly, his whispers matching the volume of Lady Mallory's lowered voice.

"'Tis a wonder, then, that the Frostmaiden does not recruit a bunch of such monsters, and use them to o'erwhelm us all with a wave of Her hand."
This message was last edited by the player at 13:24, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

Indeed, Mallory seemed the sort beset with woes that prevented her from good cheer more often than not.  Stuck on an off-course caravan in the frozen end of the north, caught in the midst of a murder investigation, unable to gain meaningful rest if her weariness was any merit, and even presently with an eye bandaged up to top it all off.  Even with the good she managed in fending off tragedy with the Lake Monster, or Moyrah's home, it seemed bad luck was a constant companion of the young Diviner.

"You raise a point worth pondering.  Normally Ice Trolls wouldn't tarry so near to civilization; they're smarter than the average brute and know better.  Yet the gate was unbarred and the both of them were in quite a state when we found them." Emotionally and physically, as it was.  To find a Troll blubbering away like a baby, or one with an arm clearly ruined and in the process of fully regrowing, was bizarre to say the least.  "I dare say they might have been driven into Targos on purpose.  Perhaps by our Druidic conspirator who set the Lake Monster on its course, or some other enemy of the citizenry."

Mallory spared a pitying look to the state that the Ice Trolls had literally been reduced to by that point.  Just yesterday they were up and about, holding conversation with Farwalker... now, organized carcasses scattered amid jars and bundles.  Inwardly she relied on old lessons to cope with the notion; the body was just remains, not the person it once housed.  Once dead, the soul was expelled entirely beyond the Prime Material and was long gone.  It was of little comfort though, particularly as she fiddled with a particular extra black button newly sewn to her collar... Mallory figured comforts and reassurances would be rare to come by in the nearing days.  "Poor things... I wish it hadn't turned out like this.  If only Miss Farwalker had more opportunity to speak with them and learn what drove them to such a state, we may have avoided this.  I don't hold Captain Skath's decision against him, all things considered, but it remains far from ideal."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:53, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

While everyone else was out shopping, or breaking apart bodies, Farwalker was off elsewhere looking for the caravan. Though, it did occur to her that it might not be the best of ideas for her to make sure they aren’t leaving too early. But it was what it was. She’d spent most of her night meditating in her room after sharing her drink, and moving about was probably a good idea. She had her pack, of course. And everything else she carried. She really didn’t want it wandering off again. That had been an adventure.

"That's a shame." Torgrim shrugged, trying not to give away just how tempting Triglio had made the mystery arrows sound. "I'd hoped to make a deal here, but I'm certain the others have more than enough skills to keep us safe on the road. One of them is a witch, after all." He nonchalantly turned around and headed for the door.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:47, Sun 05 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 14):

"Skath couldn't find his arse with both hands," Rhydd replied, crossly, to Lady Mallory's mention of the captain of the Targos guards.

"Farwalker was well on her way to sorting out the situation with the Trolls without bloodshed when he and the other lackwits all showed up. After that . . . well, you well know how it went."

The hunter was down on his knees atop a corner of a tarp, in an effort to keep his knees and legs from getting soaked by the snow. He leaned back, stretching his back as he did so.

"What part do you want me to work at, next?" he asked the wizardess, nodding his head at the partially dismembered body of the Troll as he did so.

By that point Mallory had become a bit more accustomed to just how coarse Rhydd's manner could be, though she'd yet to pin down its cause.  He'd been practically charming in conversation prior when the desire struck him, yet other times he rankled and threatened.  The result of a hard lifestyle in a hard place to live, she mulled inwardly.

"We're harvesting the claws, so the arm, here.  They're anchored by a rather tricky bit of tendon that runs the length of the forearm, so we need to upset the elbow joint here to get under.  If you could just hold the wrist and pull on it like... so..."  With Rhydd's help to forcibly extend the Troll's limb and make its lean musculature bulge, Mallory could slip the edge of her field knife in just below the elbow.  A precise twist was all it took for the lanky fingers to go completely limp and uncurl from their death clutch.  "There we are.  Every wall has its weak points, as they say."

From there it was simply a matter of severing the Ice Troll's fingers at the first knuckle joint.  A process made far, far easier without the tense tendons drawn taut as steel cables, but it still required a fair bit of work with a hacksaw and pliers.  The Troll's hand - capable of hoisting a grown man full in its grip - was simply too large to take whole, but Mallory sat down beside Rhydd so they could each handle working on the dissection together from opposite sides of the hand's span.  "As for Captain Skath; I don't disagree with you per say, but I can't fault the man his decision to act.  Hasty as it may have been." she continued with her voice low as they worked, so as not to stir up any gossip amid the others who might overhear.  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you and Skath seem to share a rather immediate dislike of one another.  Have you met prior?"  She'd noticed that Rhydd appeared familiar with the locals at the Inn as well, though it made sense if he frequented the area in his work.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:27, Sat 04 Sept 2021.

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 18):

"I'm a good judge of character," Rhydd said with a shrug and a thin-lipped smile in response to Lady Mallory's question as to whether he and Skath had a history. Perhaps he was being truthful, or perhaps he was attempting a little deadpan humor.

By and large he was careful to follow the wizardess's instructions regarding where to cut on the dead Troll, and which body-parts to concentrate their efforts upon -- primarily because he had no clue as to which parts of the dead Troll were valuable to magickers, and which were offal that could be tossed aside.

"How about the eyes?" he asked after the twosome had worked together to saw off the fingers of a dead hand.

"Do they have any special value? Obviously I don't understand such things, but it would seem that they would be more important than, say, fingers and knuckle-bones."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:53, Sun 05 Sept 2021.

"It is indeed a shame," Triglio echoed, shrugging as Torgrim went for the exit. "Safe journeys, my friend."

---

Farwalker was accompanied by Dannika as she went and checked up on the caravan. Though the smell and gore coupled with her muddled state had her somewhat nauseous, it was the pressing time concerns that made the scholar truly nervous. And since it seemed Mallory, aided by Rhydd, had the process fully under control — even if they were taking their sweet time — Dannika took the liberty of stepping away for a bit.

During the first check earlier the same morning the caravan was nearly fully geared and ready to depart. The merchants were impatient, but some time had been bought. One of them, the boisterous Waterdhavian, had been red as a furnace, as he'd thrown a fuss when he learned none of them could bring their stock of grain along for this second trip. Niels insisted on traveling as light as possible, which the Waterdhavian found to be utter bullocks. One would think that after Naerth paid them a visit to claim and compensate them for their wares at full price the man's ire would have dampened, but it only matured, and he was quick to allege foul play and even theft. It had taken the combined efforts of his colleagues to bring him down and accept the circumstances at hand.

However, now, when Farwalker and Dannika arrived at the stables, they were gone. A single man, Vander the Stable Master, remained as he tended to a pair of Axe Beaks within their enclosure.
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:17, Sun 05 Sept 2021.

"Surprisingly, no.  Academia spent decades absolutely convinced that the eyes of a Troll must contain unique secrets and particular worth, as is often the case with other creatures.  Yet experimentation has shown otherwise." Mallory noted as she pried the last digit she needed free with a grimace and a yank.  "You would think scientists and physicians would know better than to hold to preconceived notions like that; it turns out Trolls have absolutely abysmal eyesight.  Scent is actually their primary sense."

Things had about wrapped up, overall.  With the last of their casks sealed and as many sundry parts as could be spared within a reasonable amount of time, it was just left to be a matter of carrying everything to the stables to meet up with their caravan.  Mallory cast her eyes skyward in some hope of figuring out the time but the dense cloud cover served to be a total obstruction as usual.

"I am curious though, Mister Maldhon; what does your judgment cast of my character?" she asked as she pushed up to stand and held out both hands, blood-caked as her gloves may have been, to offer help and pull Rhydd to feet as well.

Subtelty over dramatics, Torgrim, Why do you always do this? When it was obvious Triglio had seen through his charade and would not budge on the price, Torgrim stopped in his tracks, his hand hovering over the door handle.  The half-elf made a heel-turn and let out an exasperated groan as he threw down a pouch on the counter. The sound of Torgrims remaining funds hitting the wood instantaneously made him sick to his stomach, and had him almost backing out of the whole deal, but damn how alluring Triglio had made the crossbow and magical mystery bolts seem. Curse his halfling salesmanship.

"There. I believe it's short a silver or two, but it's all I have. I'm certain you can afford to shave that much off for a friend. Feel free to count it."

OOC: The pouch contains Torgrim's last 108 Gold 9 Silver and 8 Copper.

Triglio took a cursory glance at the pouch. "I believe I quoted you a hundred-and-ten, did I not? I am afraid this is already such a generous offer, I cannot in good conscience go any lower. So unless you have something else of value, I think these bolts are best kept on the shelf a little longer. I am certain another buyer will stop by soon."

In reply to Mallory Bonheur (msg # 21):

"Hunh," Rhydd grunted, sounding slightly surprised, when Lady Mallory spoke her explanation about the eyes of the Troll. "Wouldn't've been my guess," he added, giving a short shrug.

After a momentary pause, he accepted the noblewoman's hand up and he rose to his feet, brushing loose snow off his heavy over-trousers.

A flash of white deep within the recesses of his hood hinted that he had smiled at Mallory's question as to his judgment of her character.

"Almost sounds like a dare," he said, looking her up and down in the manner of one appraising a potentially valuable item of livestock.

"All right then," he said. "Here goes."

"You are coming to grips with the realization that your books and pampered upbringing did not teach you all that there is to know, and are not quite sure how to deal with it."

"In spite of all the material things at your fingertips, life has not brought you true happiness, yet you are still hopeful that will not always be the case."

"You are much more comfortable surrounded by books than people, and are still feeling your way when it comes to interactions with others. As a result of that, sometimes you keep your true feelings hidden away, and bottled up inside yourself."

"In short, in many ways, you are a fledgling still learning how to fly."

"All of that said, you have a good heart, and are quick to act when others are in need of aid."

"You are much braver than you give yourself credit for being, and just need to develop a little more self-confidence in yourself and your ablities."

Rhydd flashed another smile. "Once that happens, you will truly be a woman to be reckoned with."

Still smiling, he asked "Did any of my arrows strike close to the mark?"

"I believe I quoted you a hundred-and-ten, did I not? I am afraid this is already such a generous offer, I cannot in good conscience go any lower. So unless you have something else of value, I think these bolts are best kept on the shelf a little longer. I am certain another buyer will stop by soon."

Why you greedy little... Torgrim's eyes might have betrayed his true feelings towards the merchant, but he managed to stay silent. He simply gritted his teeth and began rummaging through his pockets looking for any spare copper he might have missed on his first go. Though no coins could be found, his fingers eventually came in contact with a brass key sown into the lining of his coat pocket. He let out a reluctant grumble as he took a moment of silent consideration.

"100 gold, and I give you this." He grabbed hold of the key before tugging at it, ripping out the threads he'd previously used to sow it in place. The key was nondescript, lacking in any ornamental details or dectorations with a brown piece of torn string still tied to a hole on the back end. Torgrim placed it next to the pouch. "It's for the padlock on a chest in my house, or rather, in my room in the Dunn widow's house. In it you'll find a bottle of Berduskan Dark. Unopened, saved for a... special occasion." He eyed the halfling for any reaction. "It's all yours. The key, the padlock, the chest and the bottle. Should be enough to cover the missing 10 gold."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:51, Mon 06 Sept 2021.