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Before the Rise of Tiamat
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<blockquote data-quote="Envisioner" data-source="post: 7938145" data-attributes="member: 6749263"><p>While the two dwarves get to know each other (OOC: I'm gonna let them have at least one more back-and-forth before I give them a plot hook), a different meeting is taking place just a few houses down the main thoroughfare of Greenest village. When Lyle was deciding to come back to his prior hometown and replant some of the roots he had pulled up a few years earlier, he made sure to move into an available dwelling which was close to the town's traveler's hostel, its freestanding pub, and other such amenities catering to the fairly frequent merchant traffic that comes through this thriving village. The more places there are for rich passers-by to deposit their spare coins, the better the locals live, and the better they live, the more opportunities they can create for wealth to be redistributed; it's a beautiful cycle. While currently disinclined toward active larceny (both out of legitimate fondness for the town he grew up in, and because a sensible person keeps their metaphorical larder and privy well-separated), Lyle certainly feels more comfortable knowing that he is close to the flow of trade, just in case he decides he absolutely needs to keep his skills in practice.</p><p></p><p>So, for the moment at least, he's not a thief (or a "borrower", as the Little People often euphemistically term this activity); he's just the resident of #3 Main Street East, a pleasant little bungalow only a couple doors away from the roundabout where wagons tend to pull up for the night, allowing their teamsters and passengers to seek out the bar, the several small restaurants, or even the well-disguised house of ill repute, among other less stereotypical destinations. And, in his capacity as resident, he's currently performing one of the unofficial duties of any good citizen who wishes to keep himself utterly above suspicion - paying a social call upon one of his neighbors, in order to exchange small gifts, trade favors, arrange opportunities for other acquaintances, and engage in general gossip and small talk. The neighbor he's currently calling upon is Ms. Galena Goodburroughs, a platonic friend from back in the day when you were both little "kithlings" of allied hobbit families. Though she's only sixty-five, and thus still in the prime of midlife, she's already settled comfortably into the lifestyle of a nonagenarian spinster, sharing her dwelling with a smallish cat and two even smaller dogs which she treats as if they were cats; she makes her living by selling odd little curios that she creates out of materials others dismiss as junk, such as lovingly polishing discarded metal sprockets and turning them into jewelry for faddish human noblewomen. (You've wondered once in a while whether her family might have a touch of gnomish blood, but then, none of them seem to share her predilections; maybe she was "touched by the faeries", euphemistically or otherwise, at a formative age...or perhaps she's just a bit of an odd duck, for no reason at all.) Right now, she's knitting a caftan for one of her second cousins' nephews' schoolmates over in Berdusk; it'll be a week before it leaves her hands for a caravan heading in that direction, and another month before it arrives in the cousin's hands to be distributed to the nephew so he can take it to school, but despite this, nothing will do but that she gets it finished tonight. So, while you listen to her gossip about recent comings and goings in the area, you're forced to endure the clacking of her silvered needles (one of which is a novelty painted in light metallic green), and she has failed to offer you any baked goods to snack on while you listen, as she typically otherwise would.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Envisioner, post: 7938145, member: 6749263"] While the two dwarves get to know each other (OOC: I'm gonna let them have at least one more back-and-forth before I give them a plot hook), a different meeting is taking place just a few houses down the main thoroughfare of Greenest village. When Lyle was deciding to come back to his prior hometown and replant some of the roots he had pulled up a few years earlier, he made sure to move into an available dwelling which was close to the town's traveler's hostel, its freestanding pub, and other such amenities catering to the fairly frequent merchant traffic that comes through this thriving village. The more places there are for rich passers-by to deposit their spare coins, the better the locals live, and the better they live, the more opportunities they can create for wealth to be redistributed; it's a beautiful cycle. While currently disinclined toward active larceny (both out of legitimate fondness for the town he grew up in, and because a sensible person keeps their metaphorical larder and privy well-separated), Lyle certainly feels more comfortable knowing that he is close to the flow of trade, just in case he decides he absolutely needs to keep his skills in practice. So, for the moment at least, he's not a thief (or a "borrower", as the Little People often euphemistically term this activity); he's just the resident of #3 Main Street East, a pleasant little bungalow only a couple doors away from the roundabout where wagons tend to pull up for the night, allowing their teamsters and passengers to seek out the bar, the several small restaurants, or even the well-disguised house of ill repute, among other less stereotypical destinations. And, in his capacity as resident, he's currently performing one of the unofficial duties of any good citizen who wishes to keep himself utterly above suspicion - paying a social call upon one of his neighbors, in order to exchange small gifts, trade favors, arrange opportunities for other acquaintances, and engage in general gossip and small talk. The neighbor he's currently calling upon is Ms. Galena Goodburroughs, a platonic friend from back in the day when you were both little "kithlings" of allied hobbit families. Though she's only sixty-five, and thus still in the prime of midlife, she's already settled comfortably into the lifestyle of a nonagenarian spinster, sharing her dwelling with a smallish cat and two even smaller dogs which she treats as if they were cats; she makes her living by selling odd little curios that she creates out of materials others dismiss as junk, such as lovingly polishing discarded metal sprockets and turning them into jewelry for faddish human noblewomen. (You've wondered once in a while whether her family might have a touch of gnomish blood, but then, none of them seem to share her predilections; maybe she was "touched by the faeries", euphemistically or otherwise, at a formative age...or perhaps she's just a bit of an odd duck, for no reason at all.) Right now, she's knitting a caftan for one of her second cousins' nephews' schoolmates over in Berdusk; it'll be a week before it leaves her hands for a caravan heading in that direction, and another month before it arrives in the cousin's hands to be distributed to the nephew so he can take it to school, but despite this, nothing will do but that she gets it finished tonight. So, while you listen to her gossip about recent comings and goings in the area, you're forced to endure the clacking of her silvered needles (one of which is a novelty painted in light metallic green), and she has failed to offer you any baked goods to snack on while you listen, as she typically otherwise would. [/QUOTE]
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