A Lull in the Action - Special St. Patty's Day Game - Part One
The Smithy was slowing down after a day's business. Conwulf, the hulking behemoth of a man, operated the bellows in the back, and was getting ready to shut down for the evening. He and his sons, Jarrel and Quiarnek, worked the Smithy and had been until recently very busy. When the mercenaries had been through, the Smithy was flush with orders. In fact, Castellan Winmark basically overran the Smithy with orders for all sorts of arms and armor for these mercenaries.
But now that the mercenaries had been through the place, Conwulf and his sons were back to business as usual. A few repairs here, a few new swords and maces there, Conwulf and his boys could manage this sort of pace - it was what they had become accustomed to, especially for the boys who were barely out of apprenticeships.
But there was one final customer to service. Just as Jarrel was about to close the shop doors, a lanky human darted between the opening and made his way inside.
"Oh are you about to close?" Vanidorr asked. "I'll just be a minute."
Jarrel stared down Vanidorr, and gave him the look of someone who had little patience. "Make it quick. Tis quitting time."
"Very well," Vanidorr replied. "I have need of some armor. Word has it that your smithy is the place to acquire what I need." Looking down at his left hand, Vanidorr realized he had forgotten to remove the Elven ring that provided a mental link between himself and Lenalia. Since Vanidorr wasn't really in the mood to be bothered right now, he quickly took off the ring and put it in his pocket.
"So yes," Vanidorr continued. "One suit of armor is all."
Quiarnek, the older brother, wandered over to see this customer. "Sure, we make armor. Tis a smithy, after all."
"Yes, that's what the sign says," Vanidorr joked. The brothers did not so much as crack a smile. "What I'm looking for is a fine suit of chain mail, or more correctly a jerkin or shirt, something I can wear beneath my clothing that won't weigh me down so much."
"For someone of your size..." Jerrel said. "We have lots in stock already. Mayhap I give you one to try on."
"Well, I was hoping you could custom-make one for me," Vanidorr suggested. "I need to be absolutely sure it's of the right fit and weight. I don't want to get burdened by a suit of armor that's not right for me."
Conwulf, the massive northerner, finally came over to see what was going on. "Looking for a suit of chain mail," he noted.
Vanidorr's head quickly turned to take stock of the smith, obviously of barbarian bloodlines. "Yes, a light suit, hopefully one made specially for me."
"We do that sort of work," Conwulf replied. "It'll cost you much more than our stock suits of chain."
"Oh, I expected as such," Vanidorr said. "I can pay."
"I suppose we could commission a chain hauberk for you," Conwulf stated. "Put down a deposit of say... 125 gold."
"How long will it take?" Vanidorr asked. "I'm sort of in a hurry."
"Custom-fit work takes time," the smith answered. "To make it as light as possible, I have to use certain materials and weaves in the chain."
"Hmmm..." Vanidorr said. "Well, maybe I should check around to see if anyone has magical armor for sale."
"If you're in a hurry and want something like that," Conwulf said, "I would check with Eudes Ironil, the Provisioner."
"Excellent idea," Vanidorr replied. "He's not far from here. Thanks for your help."
Vanidorr took his leave of the Smithy and after following a few would-be marks for his... light fingers, decided better of it and made straight for the Provisioner's Shop.
This place was a far cry from the Smithy. The Provisioner stocked his shop's many cramped shelves with all manner of books, potions, scrolls, trinkets, and other oddities. It was common for Ironil to buy an item, only to sell it in the very same day to another customer. The Provisioner always warned customers not to wait to buy something of value, as he rarely kept special items in stock for long.
Entering the place, Vanidorr was surprised to find old Eudes right next to the door, dusting off a shelf full of different colored potions.
"Yes, yes," Ironil said. "We are still open for the moment. Come right in."
Vanidorr closed the door and entered, his eyes darting here and there, just trying to take in all of the various items and trinkets on the dozens of small shelves throughout the shop.
"I don't want to take up too much of your time," Vanidorr said. "Just looking for some armor. I hope you have some in stock."
"Well, let me see..." Ironil said, waddling behind the sales counter. "Many things back here... I believe someone sold me... yes, here it is." The old man produced a chain hauberk of obviously high quality. The shirt had seen action, that much was clear, but it was still in very fine condition. The Provisioner placed it on the table.
Vanidorr was quick to examine the chain hauberk. "That is quite nice," he remarked. "I've not seen anything like it. Does it have any... special qualities?"
Eudes rubbed his whiskered chin. "The man told me that you can catch a reddish glint on the chain links when it's held to the light just right... says it was forged in dragon's blood... whatever that means."
"Forged in dragon's blood?" Vanidorr asked. "Sold! How much do you want for it?"
"You understand that this is magic armor," Ironil cautioned. "It's not going to be cheap."
"Don't most people who come in here know about the magic items you sell?" Vanidorr asked. "I am willing to part with quite a bit of gold coins if this is indeed magical."
"I can assure you that it is," the Provisioner replied. "You are welcome to examine it."
Realizing he did not have the capability to verify the arcane properties (or lack thereof), Vanidorr simply smiled. "I'll trust you," he said.
"Very well," Eudes replied. "I'd be happy with 1,250 gold pieces, or the equivalent, in exchange for this suit of fine chain mail."
Vanidorr balked. "Um, that's a little more than I was looking to spend," he stammered. "Can I give you a thousand and throw in a suit of studded leather... never been worn!" He produced the armor and threw it on the counter, smiling broadly.
Ironil briefly looked at the studded leather armor, his eyes glowing blue for a moment. "Are you sure you can't come up with the 1,250? I don't really need another suit of mundane armor."
"No," Vanidorr replied. "I'm afraid that's all I really have to spend." This wasn't exactly true. After all, Vanidorr did have the means at his disposal to come up with more money. But, it would take chicanery and probably some pickpocketing to come up with an extra 250 gold. Vanidorr realized he likely wouldn't have that much time, and he didn't want to risk being thrown in the dungeon.
"Tell you what," Ironil said. "I'm willing to take a gamble on you, young one. I'll sell you this suit of armor for 1,000 gold, and I'll take your well-worn suit of leather, but you must make me a deal."
"Sure," Vanidorr replied, not exactly knowing what to expect.
"You must sell me another item of a magical nature, the next one that you come across," Ironil explained. "I know that you and your friends are likely to go back to the Caves of Chaos, and I happen to know that quite a few magical items can be had there."
"Of course," Vanidorr said. This would be an easy agreement, or so Vanidorr thought.
"Ah yes, but the catch," Ironil said. "You must sell me the next one you come across for well below market value."
Vanidorr considered the deal. "All right," he said, not knowing whether he would ever see this old man ever again.
He paid the thousand gold, handed over the old suit of studded leather, and took possession of the magical chain shirt. It would be a while before Vanidorr learned the other special property of this armor, but he would indeed be pleasantly surprised.
...
Shardstone Tavern was alive with energy. Like most nights, it was a busy place, giving Sandros Shardstone, its owner, plenty of ales to sling, and coins to be counted at the end of the night.
But the energy tonight was different. For what had seemed like the longest time, Shardstone Tavern sustained itself on whiskey-laced tales of one-on-one combat, morality lessons, and eager boasting. This night, an aspiring storyteller was here to enegerize the patrons instead, and was doing rather a fine job at it.
A small crowd had gathered around the barbarian from the north. Sjoberg was holding court, telling tales not only of his epic ancestors and the people of his tribe, but also of more recent events, especially the Battle of Merghis Keep.
"And there I was, pitted against the most powerful Orcish warriors I had ever seen," he said. ""Their axes, big as goats' heads, looked even more massive against the backdrop of the pale moon."
The crowd was captivated, and took in every word with bated breath.
"To my side was this lass, Rytahl," he continued, indicating his warrior-maiden ally. "Some of my other allies were there too, and some of them are with us tonight, in this very tavern."
Rytahl blushed and gulped down her ale to avoid the attention. "I did my fair share," she managed.
"Oh, she did more than that," Sjoberg declared. "It was, in fact, this very lass who did slay the final Orcish Warlord that night. You can thank Rytahl here for your very lives!"
A set of Dwarves had found their way into the crowd, and appreciated the northern's storytelling style.
"Tell us more of these Orcs," Gumbadh, the Dwarves' leader, implored.
"Yes," Sjoberg replied. "Well, as I said, we were surrounded, many of our fellow defenders laid bleeding on the battlements. It was quite the bloody scene. Our Cleric, Rothrusk, who had just been sworn as a man of the cloth," he paused and indicated Rothrusk with one hand. The Cleric tipped his cap. "Rothrusk here was saying prayers to heal the fallen, as any good Shaman should do, but it was becoming desperate."
"Fate smiled on us, however," Sjoberg continued, "And we prevailed with the direct aid of one Vanidorr, another of my allies... is Vanidorr here?"
"No idea," Lenalia said. The Elf maiden wore a magical Elven ring which created a bond with the other wearer, the missing Vanidorr. She smiled. "I imagine he's out causing trouble."
Tamos, who stood with Lenalia and Rothrusk, pounded down an ale. "No doubt we'll be fishing him out of the dungeon before too long," he added.
"Anyway, Vanidorr bravely leapt into the siege tower," Sjoberg continued. "Right into a heap of the creatures. He was brave and, alas, almost died for it. Our friend Tamos was there as well, and lent a much-needed hand."
"Brave friends are hard to find," Gumbadh pointed out. "You are fortunate to have them."
The Dwarf moved in closer. Sjoberg and the others noticed that he and his friends bore the symbol of Clan Grumberbel, a Dwarven clan most notable for its vast wealth and standing in the Dwarven community.
"I'll tell ya what," he continued. "You seem a knowledgeable storyteller, and I like your style."
"Have a drink, then," Sjoberg replied, raising his own mug. "A toast to all who served in the defense of Merghis Keep!"
There was a rousing toast, and many mugs were drained.
When it settled down, Gumbadh spoke once again. "Do you know any Dwarven tales of glory? I'll buy the entire room ales and whiskey if you can provide such entertainment on our behalf."
Sjoberg's eyes lit up. "Why, of course!" Running through his mind, and not wanting to let Gumbadh or any of the other patrons down, the northerner strained his half-drunk mind to come up with something. "Perhaps... the tale of... Doundandrick... and the Fire Giant!"
Gumbadh smiled. "That'll work."
The barbarian, unaccustomed as he was to retelling such tales, did an admirable job, recounting the ages-old story of a lone Dwarven warrior, Doundandrick, who was left alone to defend a village full of women, children, and the infirmed, against a rampaging Fire Giant.
When the story was done, Gumbadh grinned. "Not bad... for a HUMAN!" He and his friends had a good laugh. "I've heard better, but you'll be a good storyteller. For the effort, how about a Dwarven whiskey for this fine skald!"