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<blockquote data-quote="Dr Midnight" data-source="post: 4398344" data-attributes="member: 69"><p style="text-align: center">Session 3 – Chapter 1</p> <p style="text-align: center">The Good Life</p> <p style="text-align: center">_______________</p><p></p><p>The party returned to Winterhaven. They walked through the gates winded and tired, but feeling fine. “I am going to celebrate tonight, let me tell you,” Greldo muttered. Moltezom grunted in agreement.</p><p></p><p>“We should visit Padraig, get paid and get a room,” Gloraen said. </p><p></p><p>“Right,” Osivan nodded. “What do we do about the letter detailing the spy in Winterhaven and this Kalarel fellow?”</p><p></p><p>“We should start to feel out the town, I suppose. Look for people who have recently moved into the area. Ask questions. First, though… the lord’s manor.”</p><p></p><p>They reached Lord Padraig’s estate and were ushered straight in. Padraig greeted them with a smile. “Well! That didn’t take long at all… you only left this morning. Have you wiped out the kobold encampment?”</p><p></p><p>Gloraen replied. “Yes we have, I’m pleased to report.”</p><p></p><p>“Have you brought proof, as I asked?”</p><p></p><p>“Of course. Lathon?”</p><p></p><p>Lathon reached into his satchel and withdrew a hunk of something moist. He dropped it in the center of Padraig’s desk with a wet plop. It was Irontooth’s jaw, ripped entirely from its moorings in the goblin’s skull. The metallic teeth glinted dully in the light. </p><p></p><p>Padraig recoiled in horror. The chunk of goblin meat was seeping through several important documents that the lord had arrayed across his desktop. He’d been signing and stamping several property forms that had taken a scribe most of the day to draw up. All were now splattered with slightly coagulated goblin blood. “Uh,” Padraig stammered. “That’s fantastic. Thank you very much.”</p><p></p><p>Greldo leaned back in a chair, put his feet up on the desk and grinned. “I hesitate to bring up the unpleasant matter of our payment, but…”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, of course.” The lord fumbled in his desk drawers for a moment and withdrew a leather pouch. He handed it to Greldo. “Feel free to count it if you like.” Greldo began to open the bag.</p><p></p><p>“That won’t be necessary,” Gloraen said, eyeing the halfling. </p><p></p><p>“Well then, if we have no further business, I believe I have some items on my agenda I must tend to. Err… will you take… that?” He gestured to the jaw sitting on his desk.</p><p></p><p>Lathon shrugged and took the jaw. Padraig politely led them to the door, bidding them farewell. Once they were gone and the door was closed, he returned to his desk. He stared at it for some moments before sighing and sweeping the contents of his desktop into the waste pail.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>The adventurers went to Wrafton’s Inn and paid for another night’s lodgings.</p><p></p><p>Once inside the room, Gloraen opened the leather pouch they’d received from Lord Padraig. They crowded around the pouch and looked inside. One hundred gold pieces lay heaped in the bag. Greldo reached in slowly, reverently, and withdrew a piece. He held it up and savored the way the color of gold turns in the light. “We have money,” Gloraen said in amazement. </p><p></p><p>“At last!” Moltezom grinned.</p><p></p><p>Osivan had never seen so much money in one place before. “What do we do first?”</p><p></p><p>Greldo flicked his gold piece into the air and caught it with a flourish. “Follow me.”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>Osivan muttered “This is the life.” </p><p></p><p>The party was lazing around a luxury private room at the House of Whispers, a local bordello. They were wearing lush bathrobes and sipping wine from crystal goblets. Prostitutes fluttered around them like moths, tending to their requests for pillows and more canapé. </p><p></p><p>Moltezom was having his beard braided. He said “You can certainly see how adventuring is a life to aspire to, eh?”</p><p></p><p>“Absolutely, my friend.” Greldo was grinning around a cigar and getting a footrub from an exotic elf dressed in silks. “I can’t think of a finer way to end our first expedition.”</p><p></p><p>“It certainly is rewarding,” Gloraen said uncomfortably. His and Lathon’s positions as holy men in the service of Bahamut were conflicting with the setting. “I’m not sure about how I feel about engaging the services of… employees of a… house of ill repute.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh knock it off already,” Greldo laughed. “We’re not engaging them for those talents. We’re merely being tended to by a flock of attractive women, who are being well paid for their labors. Isn’t that right, Avilyn?” </p><p></p><p>The elf at his feet nodded. “That’s right, honey.”</p><p></p><p>The halfling blew a plume of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. “Think of them as chambermaids. Gorgeous, wonderfully proportioned chambermaids.” Gloraen rolled his eyes. Greldo relaxed for a moment more, then asked the prostitute at his feet “Hey doll. Who would you say is the most recent permanent resident here in town?”</p><p></p><p> The elf blinked. It was a strange question, but in her business odd requests were an everyday thing. She shrugged. “The dwarf that runs the smithy has only been in town for a year or so. Thair Coalstriker. He comes in sometimes.”</p><p></p><p>“Coalstriker. He’s our most likely candidate for an informant. We start with him. For now, though… does anyone feel like doing some real drinking?”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, hell yes I do.” Moltezom, his beard freshly braided, stood up and stretched. “This has been great, but two hours of sipping this sparkling white wine is enough. I want a dwarf’s drink dammit.”</p><p></p><p>“A cold beer sounds like just the thing,” Osivan said. “Let’s go.”</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>The party walked into Wrafton’s Inn and saw that at nighttime, the tavern room was filled with townsfolk and travelers. Laughter, jokes and boasts filled the air. “Well!” Greldo said. “This looks like a fun place. I can’t believe we didn’t leave our room last night.”</p><p></p><p>Osivan noted that a dwarf was among the rabble. His hands were stained with soot… the mark of a blacksmith. He nudged Greldo, who nodded. </p><p></p><p>Moltezom slapped the bar and smiled at Salvana, the proprietor. “Evenin’! How about a round for everyone, on us?”</p><p></p><p>Patrons all around the room turned and saluted the group with their beer steins and a raucus cheer. Some came up and thanked them for the drink. A gentleman in his mid-sixties approached them. “Hey, thanks for the drink!” He hiccupped and took a swig of his ale. “Thass the nicest thing anybody’s done that anyone’s ever done.”</p><p></p><p>“Uh, no problem, sir,” Gloraen said.</p><p></p><p>“My name’s Eilian. They call me Eilian the Old around town. Can you believe that?” Gloraen didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately for him, Eilian wasn’t waiting and began talking again. “So what are you, who’s your party’s name? Are you adventurers? Adventurers gotta have a party name. Am I right? Whatcha doing here in Winterhaven?”</p><p></p><p>Greldo sidled away from the cleric and the drunken man. He kept to the walls, watching the dwarf he suspected to be Thair Coalstriker, who was sitting at the bar and drinking. The dwarf didn’t seem to be watching anyone else in a manner that would suggest he was a spy… but then, an accomplished spy wouldn’t appear to be glancing about with shifty eyes. A tall, thin bald man wearing purple-gray robes sat beside Thair at the bar. The two exchanged words for a minute, then the bald man finished his drink and walked away.</p><p></p><p><em>The two could be trading secrets</em>, Greldo thought to himself. The tall man certainly didn’t fit in with the surrounding townsfolk. A fine candidate for a lieutenant that an informant might report to… but here in public? This would bear more investigation. “Moltezom,” Greldo whispered. “What say we make friends with Mr. Coalstriker?”</p><p></p><p>“Sounds fine to me,” Moltezom burped. “I like friends.”</p><p></p><p>A hand slapped on Thair’s shoulder. The dwarf turned to see another dwarf, the one in the adventuring party here in town, standing there with a drink. Behind him stood a halfling. “Hello!” The dwarf bellowed. “I’m Moltezom. This is Greldo. Hey, that’s a fine handcrafted belt buckle you’ve got there, did you make it?”</p><p></p><p>“Well met! I’m Thair. No, I’m afraid I bought this.”</p><p></p><p>“Ahh, my mistake. I thought your hands marked you for a blacksmith.”</p><p></p><p>“I am, actually. I do weapon and armor repairs, general metalworking. I don’t make things, though.”</p><p></p><p>“No?” Greldo asked. “So you repair things, but you don’t MAKE anything? No swords, no shields? That sounds odd to me.”</p><p></p><p>“It’s not odd,” Thair said coldly without as much as a look. “I haven’t been smithing for that long.” It was clear that he didn’t care to speak to the halfling.</p><p></p><p>“Moltezom,” Greldo said, “would you say it’s odd to find a dwarven blacksmith who only deals in repairs?”</p><p></p><p>“It’s uncommon, but not unheard of. Most dwarves who choose a profession choose it early and for life, though, so what’s odd to me is that you only picked up smithing recently. What did you do before you took up iron and hammer?”</p><p></p><p>Thair took a long drink of his beer. Finally he said “Hey, that’s a fine braid-job you’ve got there.” He gestured to Moltezom’s beard. “Do it yourself?”</p><p></p><p>“No, I had one of the girls down at the House of Whispers do it.”</p><p></p><p>Thair laughed. “Well, it seems I’m going there for the wrong reasons.”</p><p></p><p>Moltezom thought for a moment. “Hey, we’ve got a few items that are in need of repair. Can we drop in on you for your services?”</p><p></p><p>“Surely, first thing in the morning I’ll be open. My smithy’s the next building over. Can’t miss it.”</p><p></p><p>Back at the table, Eilian was droning on about farming and fields. “And barley! The thing about barley is that it’s… if you don’t… what I mean to say is that you gotta harvest that stuff at the right time or else the whole crop goes to ruin. The WHOLE CROP!”</p><p></p><p>Moltezom and Greldo came back. “We didn’t learn much, but there’s something off about him,” the halfling sighed.</p><p></p><p>Lathon nodded. “We’ve found out all we can for the evening, I’m thinking.”</p><p></p><p> “That’s fine, I’ve had enough of the adventurer’s life for one day.” Moltezom yawned.</p><p></p><p>Eilian was continuing to speak throughout all this, now going into the importance of owning land that was properly tilled and aerated. Gloraen glanced at him wearily. “Yes, I’ve had quite enough myself. Let’s call it a night.”</p><p></p><p>The group retreated to their room and fell asleep under the eaves of Wrafton’s Inn. Winterhaven dozed along with them.</p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">Next Time</p> <p style="text-align: center">_______________</p> <p style="text-align: center"></p> <p style="text-align: center">OHHH YEAH, WE'RE IN A HURRY</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Dr Midnight, post: 4398344, member: 69"] [CENTER]Session 3 – Chapter 1 The Good Life _______________[/CENTER] The party returned to Winterhaven. They walked through the gates winded and tired, but feeling fine. “I am going to celebrate tonight, let me tell you,” Greldo muttered. Moltezom grunted in agreement. “We should visit Padraig, get paid and get a room,” Gloraen said. “Right,” Osivan nodded. “What do we do about the letter detailing the spy in Winterhaven and this Kalarel fellow?” “We should start to feel out the town, I suppose. Look for people who have recently moved into the area. Ask questions. First, though… the lord’s manor.” They reached Lord Padraig’s estate and were ushered straight in. Padraig greeted them with a smile. “Well! That didn’t take long at all… you only left this morning. Have you wiped out the kobold encampment?” Gloraen replied. “Yes we have, I’m pleased to report.” “Have you brought proof, as I asked?” “Of course. Lathon?” Lathon reached into his satchel and withdrew a hunk of something moist. He dropped it in the center of Padraig’s desk with a wet plop. It was Irontooth’s jaw, ripped entirely from its moorings in the goblin’s skull. The metallic teeth glinted dully in the light. Padraig recoiled in horror. The chunk of goblin meat was seeping through several important documents that the lord had arrayed across his desktop. He’d been signing and stamping several property forms that had taken a scribe most of the day to draw up. All were now splattered with slightly coagulated goblin blood. “Uh,” Padraig stammered. “That’s fantastic. Thank you very much.” Greldo leaned back in a chair, put his feet up on the desk and grinned. “I hesitate to bring up the unpleasant matter of our payment, but…” “Yes, of course.” The lord fumbled in his desk drawers for a moment and withdrew a leather pouch. He handed it to Greldo. “Feel free to count it if you like.” Greldo began to open the bag. “That won’t be necessary,” Gloraen said, eyeing the halfling. “Well then, if we have no further business, I believe I have some items on my agenda I must tend to. Err… will you take… that?” He gestured to the jaw sitting on his desk. Lathon shrugged and took the jaw. Padraig politely led them to the door, bidding them farewell. Once they were gone and the door was closed, he returned to his desk. He stared at it for some moments before sighing and sweeping the contents of his desktop into the waste pail. The adventurers went to Wrafton’s Inn and paid for another night’s lodgings. Once inside the room, Gloraen opened the leather pouch they’d received from Lord Padraig. They crowded around the pouch and looked inside. One hundred gold pieces lay heaped in the bag. Greldo reached in slowly, reverently, and withdrew a piece. He held it up and savored the way the color of gold turns in the light. “We have money,” Gloraen said in amazement. “At last!” Moltezom grinned. Osivan had never seen so much money in one place before. “What do we do first?” Greldo flicked his gold piece into the air and caught it with a flourish. “Follow me.” Osivan muttered “This is the life.” The party was lazing around a luxury private room at the House of Whispers, a local bordello. They were wearing lush bathrobes and sipping wine from crystal goblets. Prostitutes fluttered around them like moths, tending to their requests for pillows and more canapé. Moltezom was having his beard braided. He said “You can certainly see how adventuring is a life to aspire to, eh?” “Absolutely, my friend.” Greldo was grinning around a cigar and getting a footrub from an exotic elf dressed in silks. “I can’t think of a finer way to end our first expedition.” “It certainly is rewarding,” Gloraen said uncomfortably. His and Lathon’s positions as holy men in the service of Bahamut were conflicting with the setting. “I’m not sure about how I feel about engaging the services of… employees of a… house of ill repute.” “Oh knock it off already,” Greldo laughed. “We’re not engaging them for those talents. We’re merely being tended to by a flock of attractive women, who are being well paid for their labors. Isn’t that right, Avilyn?” The elf at his feet nodded. “That’s right, honey.” The halfling blew a plume of cigar smoke toward the ceiling. “Think of them as chambermaids. Gorgeous, wonderfully proportioned chambermaids.” Gloraen rolled his eyes. Greldo relaxed for a moment more, then asked the prostitute at his feet “Hey doll. Who would you say is the most recent permanent resident here in town?” The elf blinked. It was a strange question, but in her business odd requests were an everyday thing. She shrugged. “The dwarf that runs the smithy has only been in town for a year or so. Thair Coalstriker. He comes in sometimes.” “Coalstriker. He’s our most likely candidate for an informant. We start with him. For now, though… does anyone feel like doing some real drinking?” “Oh, hell yes I do.” Moltezom, his beard freshly braided, stood up and stretched. “This has been great, but two hours of sipping this sparkling white wine is enough. I want a dwarf’s drink dammit.” “A cold beer sounds like just the thing,” Osivan said. “Let’s go.” The party walked into Wrafton’s Inn and saw that at nighttime, the tavern room was filled with townsfolk and travelers. Laughter, jokes and boasts filled the air. “Well!” Greldo said. “This looks like a fun place. I can’t believe we didn’t leave our room last night.” Osivan noted that a dwarf was among the rabble. His hands were stained with soot… the mark of a blacksmith. He nudged Greldo, who nodded. Moltezom slapped the bar and smiled at Salvana, the proprietor. “Evenin’! How about a round for everyone, on us?” Patrons all around the room turned and saluted the group with their beer steins and a raucus cheer. Some came up and thanked them for the drink. A gentleman in his mid-sixties approached them. “Hey, thanks for the drink!” He hiccupped and took a swig of his ale. “Thass the nicest thing anybody’s done that anyone’s ever done.” “Uh, no problem, sir,” Gloraen said. “My name’s Eilian. They call me Eilian the Old around town. Can you believe that?” Gloraen didn’t know how to respond. Fortunately for him, Eilian wasn’t waiting and began talking again. “So what are you, who’s your party’s name? Are you adventurers? Adventurers gotta have a party name. Am I right? Whatcha doing here in Winterhaven?” Greldo sidled away from the cleric and the drunken man. He kept to the walls, watching the dwarf he suspected to be Thair Coalstriker, who was sitting at the bar and drinking. The dwarf didn’t seem to be watching anyone else in a manner that would suggest he was a spy… but then, an accomplished spy wouldn’t appear to be glancing about with shifty eyes. A tall, thin bald man wearing purple-gray robes sat beside Thair at the bar. The two exchanged words for a minute, then the bald man finished his drink and walked away. [I]The two could be trading secrets[/I], Greldo thought to himself. The tall man certainly didn’t fit in with the surrounding townsfolk. A fine candidate for a lieutenant that an informant might report to… but here in public? This would bear more investigation. “Moltezom,” Greldo whispered. “What say we make friends with Mr. Coalstriker?” “Sounds fine to me,” Moltezom burped. “I like friends.” A hand slapped on Thair’s shoulder. The dwarf turned to see another dwarf, the one in the adventuring party here in town, standing there with a drink. Behind him stood a halfling. “Hello!” The dwarf bellowed. “I’m Moltezom. This is Greldo. Hey, that’s a fine handcrafted belt buckle you’ve got there, did you make it?” “Well met! I’m Thair. No, I’m afraid I bought this.” “Ahh, my mistake. I thought your hands marked you for a blacksmith.” “I am, actually. I do weapon and armor repairs, general metalworking. I don’t make things, though.” “No?” Greldo asked. “So you repair things, but you don’t MAKE anything? No swords, no shields? That sounds odd to me.” “It’s not odd,” Thair said coldly without as much as a look. “I haven’t been smithing for that long.” It was clear that he didn’t care to speak to the halfling. “Moltezom,” Greldo said, “would you say it’s odd to find a dwarven blacksmith who only deals in repairs?” “It’s uncommon, but not unheard of. Most dwarves who choose a profession choose it early and for life, though, so what’s odd to me is that you only picked up smithing recently. What did you do before you took up iron and hammer?” Thair took a long drink of his beer. Finally he said “Hey, that’s a fine braid-job you’ve got there.” He gestured to Moltezom’s beard. “Do it yourself?” “No, I had one of the girls down at the House of Whispers do it.” Thair laughed. “Well, it seems I’m going there for the wrong reasons.” Moltezom thought for a moment. “Hey, we’ve got a few items that are in need of repair. Can we drop in on you for your services?” “Surely, first thing in the morning I’ll be open. My smithy’s the next building over. Can’t miss it.” Back at the table, Eilian was droning on about farming and fields. “And barley! The thing about barley is that it’s… if you don’t… what I mean to say is that you gotta harvest that stuff at the right time or else the whole crop goes to ruin. The WHOLE CROP!” Moltezom and Greldo came back. “We didn’t learn much, but there’s something off about him,” the halfling sighed. Lathon nodded. “We’ve found out all we can for the evening, I’m thinking.” “That’s fine, I’ve had enough of the adventurer’s life for one day.” Moltezom yawned. Eilian was continuing to speak throughout all this, now going into the importance of owning land that was properly tilled and aerated. Gloraen glanced at him wearily. “Yes, I’ve had quite enough myself. Let’s call it a night.” The group retreated to their room and fell asleep under the eaves of Wrafton’s Inn. Winterhaven dozed along with them. [CENTER]Next Time _______________ OHHH YEAH, WE'RE IN A HURRY[/CENTER] [/QUOTE]
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