Halford
First Post
OOC: This storyhour is based on a PBP thread here on the EnWorld forums, more specifically the Living EnWorld forum. As such it is a collaborative effort, the games DM is covaithe, Gildrim is played by Trouvere, Ter-raen by Serow, and Erf by yours truly Halford. Jerrand Redbrand played Cyian in the early part of the adventure, don't get too attatched to Cyian...
I do not know if anyone ha attempted to transcribe a PBP before, though I would be surprised to discover I am the first. There are several obvious pros and cons to doing so. A great deal of the work is already done and can simply be cut and pasted from the game thread, we need not rely upon fallible memories, etc. On the other hand, well, er, whats the point? Couldn't readers, you, simply go and read the game thread itself? Well yes, of course and its a great read imo. However, PBP by its nature produces a choppy read, tenses often shift and posts are often just off of chronological order, etc. Evidently I concluded it worthwhile, I hope you agree, though I'd be delighted if anybody cared to read the game thead - or join the LEW forums at that.
As for editing the game thread into, what I hope is, a cohesive story I have tried to stay as true to the game as possible. I have edited tense, swapped around the post order, and made some small cosmetic amendments, nothing more. This was a surprising amount of work, so please feel free to point out any instances where I could improve, etc
The game is currently second level and I anticipate I will be able to produce another dozen installments of this ones size before running out of current material. The game is still in progress so I should not run out anytime soon.
Ter-raen Half-Orc Barbarian http://www.enworld.org/forum/4140532-post363.html
Gildrim Dwarf Divine Bard http://www.enworld.org/forum/4188146-post366.html
Erf Forest Gnome Druid http://www.enworld.org/forum/4248555-post371.html
The free city of Orussus has stood for centuries, raised upon several occasions it has always been rebuilt - a testament to the will of its people. This great city is positioned at the center of the great disk that is Enworld, and the starting point for many a tale of adventure and intrigue.
The Red Dragon Inn is perhaps Orussus's most famed locale, built in the shadow of a great stone dragon - which many believe to be petrified - the Inn caters to adventurers. It is widely known that if you seeks heroes you go to the Red Dragon and take your pick of those who aspire to greatness. The Red Dragon seldom disappoints. Many great ventures have begun in this Inn, but we will concern ourselves with one that is by comparison rather small...
Chapter 1:
Erf Rasbaer whistled softly at his first sight of the city - his first sight of a city. Despite the driving rain he was beaming. Amongst Erf's people, the Owwed Forest Gnome tribe of the Ebondark, two burrows within fifty feet of each other was pushing it, but here, as Erf had heard, humans seemed to live on top of one another in a great mess of stone and dead wood.
The little green forest gnome reached down to ruffle the damp fur of his companion, a great gangly wolf hound upon which the gnome sat astride a neat little red-brown saddle. "'Ere we are Fenenn boy! Orussus no less, Verdante's beard 'o' bees look at it! We'll find our fortune te be sure, adventure 'n' heroics. A bitte time 'n' we'll be savin' princesses 'n' robbin' dragons, 'n' all sorts! 'n' then the bards 'll sing about us, it'll be grand!"
In so far as a wolf hound can look dubious Fenenn managed it - though he graciously excepted Erf's petting, cocking his head to steer the little green fingers behind his ear.
With that they trotted on down the trail, the Forest Gnome grinning from ear to ear and waving at his fellow travelers - who seemed somewhat unsure of what to make of the odd little green man, though too beaten by the rain to display any real curiosity.
Meanwhile at the Red Dragon Inn the door opened and a man entered trailed by a halfling clutching a sheaf of papers. The man was tall and burly, with close-cropped brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard with a generous sprinkling of gray. His tunic featured a subtle geometrical pattern in brown on gold, both new and expensive. He surveyed the room with a disapproving scowl.
"I'm Alvar Thorne, entrepreneur and..." He stopped and grinned wolfishly. "Well, maybe more, but we won't get into that just now. I would like to hire a group of capable and discreet individuals for a certain task; one that I would prefer not to have gossiped all over town. Nothing illegal or immoral" -- he drew the last word out derisively -- "merely something that would adversely affect my interests were it to become prematurely public knowledge. There may be some danger associated with the task, so those unwilling to face a little risk need not apply. The reward will be... appropriate."
He looked around the room again and frowned. "Right now I'm just looking for names and skills of anyone interested. After I've assembled an appropriate group, we will avail ourselves of one of Joe's private rooms and I'll fill you in on the details. You will of course have an opportunity to refuse once you've heard the details, if you feel you're not up to the task." He took a seat at the head of an empty table andwaited expectantly.
As it turns out Master Thorne was not to receive the response he had expected, instead he was greeted by a surly dwarf's ire.
"Ye wayward swag-bellied joithead!" growled Gildrim. "Did ye nae see thes lad's faither fightin' fer his life wi' orcs out thaur jusnoo?"
Before the dwarf and his table an obviously anxious young lad stood wringing his hands.
The dwarfset down the chicken he has been devouring. "Ah'll be back fur that," he said. "Haur, laddie, hae ye nae.... Hem. Here, lad, have you no weapon of your own? Take this. It's a lot better than nothing." He lays a morning star on the table. Then deliberately he readies his shield, draws his longsword, and looks to his table companions.
"Thes is whit comes ay lettin' e'en ain orc walk freely in Orussus," he says. "It willnae tak' mair than a coople ay us, an' then we can see what is so much more important to Alvar Thorne, entrepreneur and... whatever else." He spits on the floor.
Alvar blinked, surprised as much by the dwarf's accent as his words. "I saw no orcs, but I am assured that the city watch are capable of dealing with any such infestation. They assure me of this every time I pay my taxes. And yet, here we are. Well, if you wish to do other mens' work for them, work for which they are well paid, I certainly won't stop you."
"An' they say that dwarrrves' heids ur filled wi' thooghts ay gauld," Gildrim sneered. "Ah'll be back suin an' then we'll hae a wee gab abit th' state ay yer sool."
"And yours, too," he added in Halfling to Alvar's companion.
The boy turned to Alvar. "You didn't see any? There are... there are orcs just a block away!" his voice torn between anger and pleading.
Given the weather it was perhaps understandable that Thorne missed the plight of the lads father on the streets of Orussus. Rain came down so heavily that the buildings on the other side of the road were utterly enshrouded and only the frequent streaks of lightening across the sky provide any substantial illumination in the relentless steel grey sky.
"Come with me! Please! My dad's not rich, but he's the only dad I have!" The boy stammered, shooting one last pleading look to the tavern's populace before heading for the door gripping the overlarge morningstar with grim determination.
A young warrior seated at Gildrim's table jumped to his feet grabbed his helm and slammed it firmly onto his head. "I'm with you Gildrim," He said casting a frown at the man in fine clothes,"Let's go help your father lad."
Gildrim and company, the young warrior and three others from the Inn's stock of would be adventurers, departed following the lad who broke into a run, anxious to reach his father in time. Too anxious it turned out for the doubty dwarf to keep pace with him in the rain. Gildrim's part in the quest came to an end as his companions disappeared from his sight leaving him lost in the downpour.
Some minutes passed before the dwarf staggered back into the Red Dragon, panting. He shook the raindrops from his hair like a dog gasping, "Th' spirit is willin', but th' legs ur short," "Ah wis jes' slowin' them doon. If th' laddie cood hae tauld me whaur tae go....”
As the door behind Gildrim began to swing shut a long skinny arm reached out to stop it. Rain dripped from the lanky frame of a human male who moved into the Inn and emphatically slammed shut the door. He lowered the shield held over his head and knocked the water from it with a gentle tap on the floor before shaking off his cloak and emptying his boots. "Could have held the door you know," he said, trying to impart a confidence he did not feel and falling short as his voice cracked half way through. He removed his open faced helm and placed it on the nearest table revealing a young man, or rather a boy in his mid teens.
"But no harm done with the weather like this I doubt even a dwarf can see far. My names Cyian," the young man said as he extended a hand to the dwarf. "Cyian the.. the Warrior," he added a little louder for the room to hear. "And I've come to the great Red Dragon Inn to offer my swordarm to any who need it!" He glanced around trying to see what reaction his statement bought. Not a very big one as it turned out, such claims are common place in the Red Dragon, hardly anyone even bothered to look up.
"Cood hae rolled th' red carpet ay welcome oot tay, but Ah didnae. Yer swordarm shood hae bin haur ten minutes ago, Cyian the the warrior." Gildrim grumbled as he took the proferred hand giving it a brief firm shake. "Noo, if ye'll excuise me, Ah hae hauf an apology to mak'."
Gildrim looks about the room. "Whaur ur ye, Thorne? An' how'd ye gie in haur oan a nicht loch this withit gettin' aw droukit an' drippin'? Noo, Ah can tell wa ye didnae see them orcs... they waur further awa' than Ah thooght, sae there's nae harm thaur. But ye still seid yer piece wi' a panickin' cheil in front ay ye as thocht it waur th' most important thing in th' warld. Sae, whit's sae important that it couldnae bide a wee while?"
Alvar Thorne looked up from a sheet of paper with a long list of numbers. "I used a covered carriage, of course. Didn't you see it outside? But never mind that. I take it you wish to be considered for employment? Very well, sit down.
Cyian's face reddened, having briefly though the dwarf meant to apologize to him, and then he sank wearily into a chair trying to disguise the fact that he was eavesdropping upon the dwarf's conversation as he adjusted the straps of his helm.
"What about you, Cyian, was it? Take a seat if you wish. Try not to drip on these ledgers, please. I'll wait a bit longer to see who else is interested, then we'll retire to a private room to discuss the details."
"Considered fur employment?" repeats Gildrim, pulling out a chair and collapsing heavily on it. "Ye can leuk at it that way if it makes ye feel better in yerself. Th' way Ah see it, ye teel me yer problem, an' Ah'll see if Ah'll tak' it oan, an' we can gab abit whit size ay fee ye can afford tae pay as mah client. Och, an' nae need tae fash yersel' aboot yer papers. Ah willnae be wet fur lang."
Cyian started at the mention of his name." I wasn't ... " He took a breath and calmed himself. " Yes I would like to join you sir." He replied gathering his helm and shield and joining the others at their table, taking care to keep his damp person well away from Thorne's papers.
After some muttering and hand waving, Gildrim was as dry as if he had never left the tavern. "Ah can dae ye tay, laddie," he offered Cyian. "But whit ur ye lookin' at me aw th' time fur? Dae Ah hae a piece ay chookie caught in ma beard?"
"Och, an' Ah wis forgettin' it tay," he said, swivelling around and pointing a stubby finger. The last large piece of chicken wobbled slowly into the air and settled on the edge of Alvar Thorne's table, from which position Gildrim tore off morsels.
Ter-raen, having quietly observed the comedy going on for a while now, got up and moved over to Alvar Thorne's table. He stood there for a brief moment, looking at the man then said, "I'm looking for a job. Will work hard if the pay is right."
Cyian almost jumped out of his seat at this. "Hey I'm a warrior, and with Gildrim's spells we don't need anymore muscle. He could handle anything almost by himself, couldn't you Master Gildrim?" Cyian gives the Half-orc as mean an expression as he can, sixteen a scrawny he hardly presented an intimidating sight to the burly Half-Orc.
Ter-raen did not quite understand why this boy seemed to be angry with him, but he gave a mental shrugs. Less muscle, more danger, more pay. But the man's last sentence caused him to groan internally. Dwarf speaks terribly. Can't understand his words.
Cyian folded up in himself trying to act as if his outburst had never taken place. He did not want anyone to tell him to go, so he started adjusting the strap of his helm in the hope that his presence would be forgotten.
Alvar put down his papers again and frowned. It was quickly becoming clear that this was a normal expression for him. "Gentlemen, please. The task I have in mind calls for a good many hands. There is no reason to bicker, and certainly none to touch steel. Let's at least try to pretend that we're civilized for a little while, shall we? Now, sit down and enjoy the free refreshments while I finish looking at these accounts. I don't mean to keep you waiting unnecessarily, but I think perhaps one or two more adventurers are called for before we begin to get into specifics."
Ter-raen quietly obliged, pulling out a seat and sitting down. He spares another glance at Cyian, before fixing his gaze down on the table and waited for Alvar's briefing to begin.
Gildrim sighed and shook his head at the squabbling adventurers. "Ah kin see hoo this wee ceilidh is gonnae end... daggers in th' back at nicht. Mark mah words."
Cyian hunches his shoulders like he can already feel the blade biting into his back and shoots Ter-raen a fearful glance. Ter-raen secretly hoped that the dwarf would not sign up for the job, he could not understand a word the bearded one said.
Gildrim turned to Ter-raen and cleared his throat deciding to mend a few fences. "Ignore the soft-head human," he said in the guttural Orc tongue. "You're a big fellow. He's scared of you. He's frightened his sword isn't long enough, if you know what I mean. Now, orcs and dwarves don't see eye to eye in the main, but don't you think on that, either. You might be the misbegotten spawn of a monster, but I won't hold it against you. We'll get along fine." Gildrim beamed, showing somewhat yellow teeth.
Cyian stiffened at the first harsh word spoken by the dwarf, he listened curiously and then when Gildrim smiled he turned his head so he could watch the Half-Orc's reaction from the corner of his eye.
Ter-raen was genuinely surprised! He hasn't met any dwarves that knew Orcish thus far, and he lets the slight pass, well used to such prejudice by now. He replies in Orcish, with a slight nod, "Good to hear you speak Orc better than common. The young man worries too much." After his short reply, Ter-raen relaxed a little Maybe is good to have dwarf sign up too.
"Ah'm foo ay hidden talents," Gildrim.
Something hidden talents? Ter-raen is no longer bothered by the dwarf's speech impediment, now that he can speak properly with the dwarf when needed. He simply chuckles a little at that sentence.
Cyian watches the exchange not knowing if they are arguing or telling jokes. He felt alot better once he saw the half-orc relax." Ale?" he asked offering a tentative smile.
"Yes. Please." Ter-raen replied cheerfully accepting the young man's invitation, a pleasing thought in this rain. Looking at the dwarf, Ter-raen gestured to him with a wave of the hand, "Come, ale too?"
"Aye, Ah daur say it's time fur anither," Gildrim agreed.
"Well, I think that's about enough of that," Alvar said archly, signing his name with a flourish and handing the page back to the harried-looking halfling. He turned to the bar and calling, "Joe, the room we discussed is ready?"
Joe nodded waving a bar-rag towards a door in the back. Alvar stood and said, "If those of you who are interested in hearing the rest of my proposition would please follow me, we can get started." With that he strode toward the back room without waiting for a response.
The new companions exchanged glances, and after acquiring fresh mugs of ale followed Alvar into the back room. Inside was a long table, less worn and stained than the ones in the common room. The walls were thick plaster, and when the door closed the noise of the common room faded to a dull murmur. Thorne was seated at the head of the table and waited for the company to seat themselves before speaking.
"I know you all want to the details of exactly what I want of you, but I'm going to have to give a little background information, a history lesson if you will, in order for it to all make sense." Alvar's voice boomed out slightly too loudly for the room. "I shall try to make it quick."
"Two hundred years ago, the Grellgo river -- you all know the Grellgo? It's the big river running north towards Orussus from Lathim and points south. Anyway, two hundred years ago it was a much smaller river, and the lands along its banks were good farmland, not festering swamps. And the owners of that farmland ... Well. Since Orussus is ruled by a mayor and a council, you may have wondered -- I certainly have -- where all these lords and countesses and barons come from. It turns out that they are landowners, or were. They owned farmland. Good farmland." He smiled nastily.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago, some nameless river in the Badlands shifted course and became a tributary of the Grellgo. Overnight, the Grellgo tripled in size, jumped its banks, and flooded most of that good farmland. Family fortunes tracing back generations were wiped out in days. When the river settled into its present course, most of the best farmland had turned into swamplands: the Grellgo fens. Many of the noble families lost everything, and their names are mostly forgotten. A few managed to survive, much diminished, on other holdings: lesser farmlands, trade ships, gold stored elsewhere, and so forth. Those are the ancestors of our current crop of lordlings." His voice dripped with contempt.
"Now we come to my part in the story. My mother's aunt, Aurelia Higgenbottom, died ten years ago, and in her possessions we found a diary that had belonged to her mother; my great grandmother. The diary records that not long after her marriage to my great grandfather, she received word that her family home was lost in a flood. She goes on for several pages of rather purple prose about how she'll never see her childhood home again, which was painful to read, but was useful in that she described some of the landmarks in detail."
"Naturally, I gave the matter no further thought, but Fewtrell here," he waved toward the halfling, "It seems he makes a hobby out of studying genealogy. By referencing several old maps from before the flood, he has managed to present me a fairly convincing argument that the 'family home' she describes is the manor house of the Mordren family. The Mordrens were counts, and, if Fewtrell isn't mistaken, were among the most successful and respected of the noble families of the era. Their lands were entirely within the flooded lands, and the family was thought to be lost completely. But, if Fewtrell's theory is correct, my great grandmother might actually be the daughter of the last Count Mordren." He directed this mockingly towards the halfling.
"As genealogical evidence goes, this is pretty flimsy, and if I were to put myself forward as Count Mordren based on this, I would be a laughingstock. Even the fact that I'm thinking about it would be mildly embarrassing, which is why I'm asking all of you not to mention it, please. Now, I normally wouldn't give two bent coppers for the title to some land in a swamp, but it so happens that there are some business opportunities coming up which will be easier to capitalize on if I can call myself a count, so I've asked Fewtrell to look into the matter further, to see if there is any more evidence that might be found, and he's come up with something."
"Some other genealogical records of the time say that the Mordren family had a tradition of recording the births, marriages, and deaths of all the children of the current Count Mordren on a ceremonial funeral urn. When he died himself, his ashes were placed in the urn in the family crypt alongside the ashes of former counts. At first Fewtrell and I thought this wasn't helpful, since the urns would all be lost by now. But it seems that, according to my great grandmother's journal, the Mordren family manor house was actually at the crest of a small hill overlooking the surrounding area. Thus, it's quite possible that the house is still intact and the urn might be found." He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.
"This is where you all come in. The swamps are dangerous enough that I can't just send one of my usual errand runners, and I can't spare any guards for the foreseeable future. But this is exactly the sort of task that you adventurers claim to be good at, so I thought I'd give you a try. My offer is this. I'll give 1500 crowns to whoever fetches me that urn. You can divide it amongst yourselves, however many of you there are, as you see fit. I'll provide maps indicating my best guess as to the location of the manor, but then you're on your own."
Alvar looked the group over coldly raising a hand to forestall any comments, "I am a well-known and respected merchant, with holdings in Orussus, Monemvassia, Fallon, and elsewhere. You will be paid upon delivery of the urn, lest any of you care to ask for an advance, I pay for results only – you will have to trust in my good faith. As for the area and its dangers, I know little other than that it's swampland. You should ask in one of those villages close to the swamps. There's one on the map, it's called..." He snaps his fingers, and Fewtrell whispers something in his ear. "...Cragger's Rest."
Gildrim listened, making the occasional ambiguous grunt noise. When Thorne finished, he rubbed a hand through his beard. "Ah dinnae hauld wi' grave robbin' - an' ay yer ain forebeir an' aw - but Ah daur say th' grave is in th' urn, an' nae th' urn itsel'. An' whit's an urn if nae somethin' that can be muived aboot? Ye micht be wantin' tae tak' it tae a noo restin' place wi' mair honoor, sae ye kin sleep at nicht, thocht, Thorne."
The dwarf paused considering the task. "Och, Ah dinnae like gettin' ma feet wet, an Ah cannae say it's a heroic cause, but Ah hae naethin' else oan mah plate. If we kin airt oot a few mair haunds, Ah'm in." He laughs, a gurgling sound from deep in his throat,
"Sae, it's a merse that's gane tae bog. Nocht but gellie-leeches an' bitin' midgies, Ah'll wager. If th' water is deep, Ah micht be wantin' a boat... a scowe tae skim ower th' reeds."
Alvar sniffed haughtily at the dwarf's words, “"Grave robbing? If the house actually stands where the journal describes, that means there's a pretty good chance that it and all of its contents belong to me. I can hardly steal from myself, now can I?"
Gildrim's accent became a little stronger as thrust a stubby finger at Thorne. "A grae belongs tae th' bodie restin' in it. Ye've nae richt tae tak' th' stane frae a tomb tae mak' a wall, e'en if yer hoose is fallin' doon." He harrumphs. "But Ah've seid ma bit. Ah'll brin' ye th' ashes ay yer forefaither. Truth be tauld, Ah'll be bringin' aw th' urns Ah kin fin'. Yer fowk will want tae stay restin' thegither."
Gildrim turns to look over the others in the room."Noo, Ah'm a follower ay Grendath an' He's gien me a wheen ay tricks. But Ah'm nae priest. Ah kin heal wee clouts an' cuts an' bruises, but Ah cannae dae much fur a spear in th' belly. We're wantin' a proper healer."
Cyian, quiet during Thorne's speech, shifted in his seat. A healer would be very welcome, especially in some swamp. He doesn't want to eat swamp grass to get better! He executed some hasty mental calculations and concluded that 1500 crowns split four ways was still a fortune by any measure.
"Ye twa leuk uissfu in a barnie," Gildrim said nodding to Cyian and, more enthusiastically to the half-orc. "Ye leuk... weel, ye leuk... ye leuk ready fur anythin'," he finished - unsure whether he had managed to convince himself.
Cyian beamed at what he chose to interpret as a compliment from the dwarf, "Yeah, we're ready for anything let's go."
"Grendath's hairy...! Hem... hem... Laddie," sighed Gildrim, "yoo're as flighty as a yearlin' goat. Thaur's mair tae hear frae Thorne haur. An' maps tae leuk at. An' preparations tae mak'."
The dwarf turned to Ter-Raen and asked, "Can ye nae sit oan heem an' keep heem quiet?"
Alvar stood. "Fewtrell, the map." The halfling dg out a rolled piece of paper, which Alvar took and handed to Gildrim. "Do you have any more questions? I need to be getting back to my offices soon."
A quick glance at the map revealed that it indicated an area about 100 miles south of Orussus, east of the main southern road, near the Grellgo river.
"Ah don't trust Cyian haur nae tae forgit it, aw dicht his dowp wi' it in a moment aw inattention. Ter-raen, can you read? Ah'm middlin' guid wi' maps. Ah think Ah'll haud it fer noo, if thaur's nae pleenin'?" said Gildrim.
"Leuks like a hunder miles tae me, if it's an inch. A sennicht thaur, an' a sennicht back, an' a speal in th' swamp. Three weeks ay fuid each. We kin buy some at Cragger's Rest."
Cyian sat back grumpily, crossing his arms and giving the dwarf a disgruntled stare. Just want to look at it, he thought. When the dwarf said it's a hundred miles his expression changed to that of an excited child ready to be off to his first fair.
Gildrim hopped to his feet. "Ah'm gonnae tak' a peek in th' main room again," he said. He opened the door with a crash and poked his head through.
Erf had by this point made his way through the rain to the famous Red Dragon Inn. Only Fenenn's sodden fur and sneezing persuaded him to avoid examining the great petrified beast that cast its shadow over the establishment in more detail.
The driving rain had failed to combat Erf's relentless cheer though, and he hummed merrily as he and Fenenn approached the stables of the Red Dragon Inn. Having experienced, and fallen in love with, civilization in the tiny village of Daunton next to his Forest home Erf had become a great friend to the children of the village – in fact the first children Erf had met were now the village elders, humans grew up disquietingly fast – after following one of Fenenn's ancestors back to it. From his friends in the village Erf had learned of heroes and heard dozens of tails originating in the Red Dragon Inn. Now he was finally going to be part of one of these tails and he could barely contain his excitement.
However, first things were, by definition, supposed to be first and so Erf steered Fenenn around to the stables, the sodden pair emerging from the rain into the warm light of a stable. A young lad brushing a horse starred in surprise as the forest gnome dismounted and pulled a chunk of salted meat from a saddle bag, which Fenenn proceeded to wolf down.
“Ello there! I'm Erf, 'n' this wet one's Fenenn! We're 'ere te get in a bitte heroin' 'n' such. What's yer name? Do I need te pay fer stablin' 'n' such?” Erf said without pausing for breath.
The boy blinked slowly in response, and set his brush down carefully.
“I am Edrik, uh Sir, you, err, no, you don't need to pay, not if you are here for adventuring – this is the Red Dragon Inn. Ah, sorry, but, er, are you a goblin?”
The forest gnome sighs quietly – its not easy being green – and since traveling into civilized parts he's gotten that a lot.
“No I'm a forest gnome, I'm green 'cause, well, err, I don't really know. I suppose brown'd do as well. Just not beige, no offense, I'd stick out like a saw thumb in the trees if I was beige – pinky beige. Not that there's anythin' wrong with bein' beige I just don't see the point – ye should be grey, or brown, brown's very versatile that way ye could blend in with these honkin' big grey things ye live in.”
He shrugged, and began to remove Fenenn's saddle, all the time chatting away at a mile a minute pace with the startled Edrik – who managed to get enough words in edgeways to explain to Erf that he should introduce himself upon entering the Inn. Finally having finished tending to a dripping and despondent Wolf Hound he anxiously instructed the stable boy,
"He likes it if you scratch behind his ear, see? And he can stay up as late as he wants, but if you see him lickin' in certain areas distract him witha bit 'o' meat, here, if'n you'd be so good - I'm tryin' to teach 'im manners and whatnot."
Erf turned back to the massive dog, whose posture indicated a sulk, and waggled a finger and admonished,
"'N as for you Fenenn you be nice to me new friend here and don'cha do none of yer complain'in. Don't be givin' me no puppy dog eyes young fella me lad you've had your dinner and then some 'n I'm off to find mine and a bitte work so I can afford to feed ye ye big galoot!"
So saying Erf petted Fenenn, who bestowed a half hearted lick upon the gnome in response, grinned at the stable boy, glad of the proper etiquette advise the lad had bestowed upon him and entered the tavern proper.
Waving, as much so would people would notice him as in greeting, Erf made his way to the bar, scaled a barstool with practiced ease and positively beamed at the barman.
"'Ello there Master John, I'm Erf Rasbaer - means Friendly Greentree in Gnome - a Druid looking for a bitte work preferably where I might do some good. I'm mostly for the healing myself, but me honkin' big Wolf Hound Fenenn's a good sort to have at ye side in a fight."
Erf looked thoughtful for a moment before adding,
"I'm a Forest Gnome by the way, in case any of you fine folks was wonderin'"
And indeed Erf was tiny, even for a gnome, standing barely over two feet tall, and he was green, or at least a sort of mottled browney green with a incongorous grin splitting his little face and a pair of overlarge black eyes twinkling in the firelight. He could hardly wait to get started on an adventure, and wondered how long it would take for an opportunity to present itself – he would not have long to wait.
The door to a private room at the back of the tavern's main space crashed open and a dwarven head popped through followed shortly by a rumbling dwarven voice,
"Last chance! We're wantin' a healer, an' a body wha's in wi' a guid god, an' kin cast proper healin' spells!"
"'E by gum! Well it seems someones in need of me 'umble services Master John, may Verdante keep yer changes good!" Erf exclaimed excitedly, dropping off the barstool and making a hurried beeline for the Dwarf's retreating countenance, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry.
"Ohhh! Ohh! Oh! Master Dwarf, wait, I can heal, I can heal, and 'm good in the wilds! Oh Verdante's stifled sapling please wait!"
The dwarf caught the door and gave a low bow that brought his head almost level with the gnome's. "Gildrim, son ay Darak, ay Clan Nurazak," he said, adding in surprisingly good Gnome, "Jan skor neb enn. It's a blessing to meet a new companion. Nae hurry, we're still talkin'. Come on in, an' meet th' man wha's lookin' fur expert help."
"Erf Rasbaer, of the Owwed Tribe, very pleased to make yer acquaintance Master Gildrim - honor to you and your Clan may your beards flourish!"
The little Gnome bustles over and slips through the open door.
"Weel, that was quick," Gildrim chuckled, returning with an odd new companion, a gnome, following close behind. "Ah'll let him introduce himself later. Fur noo, tak' a leuk at this map, seg callad." He said as he passed the parchment over to the gnome.
Cyian mouths "seg callad?" Attempting to dredge up his knowledge of the gnome tongue as the newcomer looks over the map.
"Weel, Maister Thorne," Gildrim continues, "Ah ken fine ye're a well-respectit merchand, sae ye'll unnerstaund aw aboot contracts an' sae on. Lat's git it doon in writin' afair ye leave: we'll gae tae th' Grellgo swamps, airt oot yer ancestral hame, an' cairy back this urn. Onythin' in th' hoose is yers; onythin' ense we micht fin' elsewhere is oors. Nae, whit dae we git fur oor trooble if we gang aw th' way thaur tae fin' th' hoose ur th' urn is missin', sae as ye learn th' valuable lesson that ye kin gie up yer dream ay bein' a coont?"
Alvar nodded thoughtfully. "A fair point. What I seek is knowledge, one way or the other. If you can say under the influence of truth magic that you've searched the area thoroughly and there is no house there, or that you've searched the house and there are no such urns or other documentation of interest to me, I'll pay the full reward. Will that suffice?"
Before anyone could respond to Alvar's words Cyian's eyes buldged,
“Cousins?!” He spluttered looking from gnome to dwarf incredulously.
"Eh, what's that, Cyian? Coosins? Aye, dwarves an' gnomes ur stone-kin, aw fowk ken that. An' jist coz a fella is a wee bit green in th' gizz is nae reason tae doobt it. Sae, ye kin speak Gnome tay, kin ye? Guid, guid."
""'Ello Cyian! Cor I'm glad ye both speak Gnome makes me feel right at home! Yep Dwarves and Gnomes are Cousins, though I think us Forest Gnomes are farther removed than most! My Dwarven's dead rusty, hmm, but we can brush it up!" Erf enthused as he clambered into a chair that dwarfed his tiny personage, with practiced ease. His eyes flickered over the map alight with with interest. Giving a small satisfied nod he soon turned an incongruously large grin upon the company,
"Pleasure to meet ye all folks, I'm Erf, Erf Rasbaer – means Friendly Greentree, I guess it makes sense what with me bein' a Druid 'n such, though pers'nly I don't think ye can be too friendly like me tribe said." – bein' a forest gnome's why I'm green. Here's hopin' I can be of service. I may be little, but my motto has always been speak nicely and ride a big dog! In any case I knows me way around in the wilderness and I can do a bitte healing and a few other helpful tricks 'specially in the woods. Oh, and doncha worry about me slowin' you down, I just ride me dog so we'll be good!"
He grinned at everyone,
"Anyway, don't mind me I'll catch up do go on! I bet we're goin on a great quest and such right? I love you big guys, never dull, never dull!"
Ter-raen looked at the newcomer. Gnome healer. Both the new gnome and the dwarf seem to talk an awful lot. At least the gnome spoke clearly, or close enough. He is quietly amused by this party, it should be an interesting trip. Looking to the gnome he says,
"Ter-raen,” he prodded his chest, “welcome," a Half-Orc of few words.
Erf grinned and proffered an odd little bow to Ter-raen, he is about to launch into another onslaught of dialog when Gildrim cuts him off deciding to speed matters along.
"See, Ah seid Ah'd fin' a healer. Didnae tak' mair than fower breaths.” Gildrim chuckles, turning back to their employer he says, “Sae, Thorne, if ye're in a big hurry tae get back tae yer money-makin', ye kin draw up a contract noo, aw leave it tae yer halflin' adjutant."
Alvar frowned, "There will be no contract, as I said I am looking for discretion in this matter and the surfacing of such paperwork has the potential to cause me some embarrassment, you will simply have to take my word. I may also wish to avail myself of the service of those who frequent the Red Dragon in the future and if I cheat you Joe will not allow that.” Gildrim scowls, but nods begrudgingly. “Let me be clear, what I'm interested in from the house is documentation. If there are other valuables in the house that go missing, I won't be too concerned - within reason. I'm not one to muzzle the kine that treads the grain. Do try not to do any structural damage, though."
"Mair than generoos, mair than generoos. Ah'll do ma best tae fin' th' hoose aw th' place whaur it stuid. Ye hae th' wuid ay a Steady Anvil." The Dwarf responded.
“Sounds grand te me!” Erf chimed in happily.
Alvar nodded to Fewtrell, and the halfling gathered up his pile of papers with a practiced flick and stowed it in an oil-sealed leather box. "If there are any further questions, please contact Fewtrell through my offices at the north end of Merchant Street. Thank you for your time, and I hope to see you again soon, with a certain urn. I leave the choice to participate or not to you all the reward will remain the same to be divided as you see fit, good night." With that, he swept out of the room, with Fewtrell following close behind. For a moment, the new company could hear the bustle of the inn's common room before the door swung shut and the room fell silent.
Erf looked to his fellows
"So what do you do? Are you warriors? Ye look like warriors. I bet ye've had loads of adventures 'ey? Me and Fenenn been lookin' for a bitte adventure, but we've not had much luck. Still I bet we find all sorts of interesting stuff where we're headed, loads of dangerous stuff lives in swamps!" 'E by gum we'll find that urn fer wassisface fer ye! Sure as badgers burrow! I just gotta wonder what all we'll find livin' in their... nasty stuff in swamps, but whatever it is we can handle it!"
"Mmm, badgers," said Gildrim, smacking his lips reminiscently. "Ah havenae eaten a guid brock, ur ain at aw, since Ah left Nurazak Farnore."
Cyian resolved to keep quiet still astonished that he has been accepted by the group and anxious not to blow it. The little addition to the party spoke at a break neck pace which made understanding him just as difficult as Gildrim. At least they had a healer, which brought up the uncomfortable thought of needing to be healed – what had Gildrim said a spear through the guts?
Gildrim spread the map out on the table and the newly formed group gather around.
"Hmm... big swamp." Ter-raen commented, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
"It's nae wee," agreed Gildrim. "But if the map is reit, th' manor hoose is, ur was, aboot twenty miles due eest ay Cragger's Rest . We kin keep tae th' road an' ne'er see th' swamp till we reach th' village."
The Gnome let out a tiny half hearted sigh, and shrugged, before addressing the group as a whole,
"So if we're all agreed when'd we set off? I know I wouldn't mind waitin' out the rain, not that its the biggest bother. Maybe we could set out in the morning? We don't have too pressin' a need to hurry right?"
Taking a look out the small window Cyian nodded in agreement."It'll still be messy in the morning, but not as bad as all this." He said indicating the window with a wave of his hand.
"Well I don't know about you folks, but I'm for a long nights sleep in one of those humongous beds you folks like! But first I better bring Fenenn, that's me dog by the way, some milk and make sure he's settled in okay!"
Erf gave a grave little salute to the group and began making for the door.
"Aye, aye, see yer in th' morning', Erf. We kin go shoppin' th' morra, if onybody kin think ay whit we'll be needin'. Ah micht gie masel' a sheet ay canvas, tae keep cosy if we hae tae camp in th' swamp. Ah dinnae want tae sleep lyin' on th' wet ground."
Shortly after that the new company called it a night, anticipating the coming trials with varied emotions, from Erf's unbridled enthusiasm, to Cyian's fearful excitement. The pounding of the rain against the window panes of their comfortable rooms had a comfortable consistency and the tacit advantage of reminding them to enjoy their comforts while they were available.
I do not know if anyone ha attempted to transcribe a PBP before, though I would be surprised to discover I am the first. There are several obvious pros and cons to doing so. A great deal of the work is already done and can simply be cut and pasted from the game thread, we need not rely upon fallible memories, etc. On the other hand, well, er, whats the point? Couldn't readers, you, simply go and read the game thread itself? Well yes, of course and its a great read imo. However, PBP by its nature produces a choppy read, tenses often shift and posts are often just off of chronological order, etc. Evidently I concluded it worthwhile, I hope you agree, though I'd be delighted if anybody cared to read the game thead - or join the LEW forums at that.
As for editing the game thread into, what I hope is, a cohesive story I have tried to stay as true to the game as possible. I have edited tense, swapped around the post order, and made some small cosmetic amendments, nothing more. This was a surprising amount of work, so please feel free to point out any instances where I could improve, etc
The game is currently second level and I anticipate I will be able to produce another dozen installments of this ones size before running out of current material. The game is still in progress so I should not run out anytime soon.
Ter-raen Half-Orc Barbarian http://www.enworld.org/forum/4140532-post363.html
Gildrim Dwarf Divine Bard http://www.enworld.org/forum/4188146-post366.html
Erf Forest Gnome Druid http://www.enworld.org/forum/4248555-post371.html
Urn Your Pay: Story Hour
The free city of Orussus has stood for centuries, raised upon several occasions it has always been rebuilt - a testament to the will of its people. This great city is positioned at the center of the great disk that is Enworld, and the starting point for many a tale of adventure and intrigue.
The Red Dragon Inn is perhaps Orussus's most famed locale, built in the shadow of a great stone dragon - which many believe to be petrified - the Inn caters to adventurers. It is widely known that if you seeks heroes you go to the Red Dragon and take your pick of those who aspire to greatness. The Red Dragon seldom disappoints. Many great ventures have begun in this Inn, but we will concern ourselves with one that is by comparison rather small...
Chapter 1:
Erf Rasbaer whistled softly at his first sight of the city - his first sight of a city. Despite the driving rain he was beaming. Amongst Erf's people, the Owwed Forest Gnome tribe of the Ebondark, two burrows within fifty feet of each other was pushing it, but here, as Erf had heard, humans seemed to live on top of one another in a great mess of stone and dead wood.
The little green forest gnome reached down to ruffle the damp fur of his companion, a great gangly wolf hound upon which the gnome sat astride a neat little red-brown saddle. "'Ere we are Fenenn boy! Orussus no less, Verdante's beard 'o' bees look at it! We'll find our fortune te be sure, adventure 'n' heroics. A bitte time 'n' we'll be savin' princesses 'n' robbin' dragons, 'n' all sorts! 'n' then the bards 'll sing about us, it'll be grand!"
In so far as a wolf hound can look dubious Fenenn managed it - though he graciously excepted Erf's petting, cocking his head to steer the little green fingers behind his ear.
With that they trotted on down the trail, the Forest Gnome grinning from ear to ear and waving at his fellow travelers - who seemed somewhat unsure of what to make of the odd little green man, though too beaten by the rain to display any real curiosity.
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Meanwhile at the Red Dragon Inn the door opened and a man entered trailed by a halfling clutching a sheaf of papers. The man was tall and burly, with close-cropped brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard with a generous sprinkling of gray. His tunic featured a subtle geometrical pattern in brown on gold, both new and expensive. He surveyed the room with a disapproving scowl.
"I'm Alvar Thorne, entrepreneur and..." He stopped and grinned wolfishly. "Well, maybe more, but we won't get into that just now. I would like to hire a group of capable and discreet individuals for a certain task; one that I would prefer not to have gossiped all over town. Nothing illegal or immoral" -- he drew the last word out derisively -- "merely something that would adversely affect my interests were it to become prematurely public knowledge. There may be some danger associated with the task, so those unwilling to face a little risk need not apply. The reward will be... appropriate."
He looked around the room again and frowned. "Right now I'm just looking for names and skills of anyone interested. After I've assembled an appropriate group, we will avail ourselves of one of Joe's private rooms and I'll fill you in on the details. You will of course have an opportunity to refuse once you've heard the details, if you feel you're not up to the task." He took a seat at the head of an empty table andwaited expectantly.
As it turns out Master Thorne was not to receive the response he had expected, instead he was greeted by a surly dwarf's ire.
"Ye wayward swag-bellied joithead!" growled Gildrim. "Did ye nae see thes lad's faither fightin' fer his life wi' orcs out thaur jusnoo?"
Before the dwarf and his table an obviously anxious young lad stood wringing his hands.
The dwarfset down the chicken he has been devouring. "Ah'll be back fur that," he said. "Haur, laddie, hae ye nae.... Hem. Here, lad, have you no weapon of your own? Take this. It's a lot better than nothing." He lays a morning star on the table. Then deliberately he readies his shield, draws his longsword, and looks to his table companions.
"Thes is whit comes ay lettin' e'en ain orc walk freely in Orussus," he says. "It willnae tak' mair than a coople ay us, an' then we can see what is so much more important to Alvar Thorne, entrepreneur and... whatever else." He spits on the floor.
Alvar blinked, surprised as much by the dwarf's accent as his words. "I saw no orcs, but I am assured that the city watch are capable of dealing with any such infestation. They assure me of this every time I pay my taxes. And yet, here we are. Well, if you wish to do other mens' work for them, work for which they are well paid, I certainly won't stop you."
"An' they say that dwarrrves' heids ur filled wi' thooghts ay gauld," Gildrim sneered. "Ah'll be back suin an' then we'll hae a wee gab abit th' state ay yer sool."
"And yours, too," he added in Halfling to Alvar's companion.
The boy turned to Alvar. "You didn't see any? There are... there are orcs just a block away!" his voice torn between anger and pleading.
Given the weather it was perhaps understandable that Thorne missed the plight of the lads father on the streets of Orussus. Rain came down so heavily that the buildings on the other side of the road were utterly enshrouded and only the frequent streaks of lightening across the sky provide any substantial illumination in the relentless steel grey sky.
"Come with me! Please! My dad's not rich, but he's the only dad I have!" The boy stammered, shooting one last pleading look to the tavern's populace before heading for the door gripping the overlarge morningstar with grim determination.
A young warrior seated at Gildrim's table jumped to his feet grabbed his helm and slammed it firmly onto his head. "I'm with you Gildrim," He said casting a frown at the man in fine clothes,"Let's go help your father lad."
Gildrim and company, the young warrior and three others from the Inn's stock of would be adventurers, departed following the lad who broke into a run, anxious to reach his father in time. Too anxious it turned out for the doubty dwarf to keep pace with him in the rain. Gildrim's part in the quest came to an end as his companions disappeared from his sight leaving him lost in the downpour.
Some minutes passed before the dwarf staggered back into the Red Dragon, panting. He shook the raindrops from his hair like a dog gasping, "Th' spirit is willin', but th' legs ur short," "Ah wis jes' slowin' them doon. If th' laddie cood hae tauld me whaur tae go....”
As the door behind Gildrim began to swing shut a long skinny arm reached out to stop it. Rain dripped from the lanky frame of a human male who moved into the Inn and emphatically slammed shut the door. He lowered the shield held over his head and knocked the water from it with a gentle tap on the floor before shaking off his cloak and emptying his boots. "Could have held the door you know," he said, trying to impart a confidence he did not feel and falling short as his voice cracked half way through. He removed his open faced helm and placed it on the nearest table revealing a young man, or rather a boy in his mid teens.
"But no harm done with the weather like this I doubt even a dwarf can see far. My names Cyian," the young man said as he extended a hand to the dwarf. "Cyian the.. the Warrior," he added a little louder for the room to hear. "And I've come to the great Red Dragon Inn to offer my swordarm to any who need it!" He glanced around trying to see what reaction his statement bought. Not a very big one as it turned out, such claims are common place in the Red Dragon, hardly anyone even bothered to look up.
"Cood hae rolled th' red carpet ay welcome oot tay, but Ah didnae. Yer swordarm shood hae bin haur ten minutes ago, Cyian the the warrior." Gildrim grumbled as he took the proferred hand giving it a brief firm shake. "Noo, if ye'll excuise me, Ah hae hauf an apology to mak'."
Gildrim looks about the room. "Whaur ur ye, Thorne? An' how'd ye gie in haur oan a nicht loch this withit gettin' aw droukit an' drippin'? Noo, Ah can tell wa ye didnae see them orcs... they waur further awa' than Ah thooght, sae there's nae harm thaur. But ye still seid yer piece wi' a panickin' cheil in front ay ye as thocht it waur th' most important thing in th' warld. Sae, whit's sae important that it couldnae bide a wee while?"
Alvar Thorne looked up from a sheet of paper with a long list of numbers. "I used a covered carriage, of course. Didn't you see it outside? But never mind that. I take it you wish to be considered for employment? Very well, sit down.
Cyian's face reddened, having briefly though the dwarf meant to apologize to him, and then he sank wearily into a chair trying to disguise the fact that he was eavesdropping upon the dwarf's conversation as he adjusted the straps of his helm.
"What about you, Cyian, was it? Take a seat if you wish. Try not to drip on these ledgers, please. I'll wait a bit longer to see who else is interested, then we'll retire to a private room to discuss the details."
"Considered fur employment?" repeats Gildrim, pulling out a chair and collapsing heavily on it. "Ye can leuk at it that way if it makes ye feel better in yerself. Th' way Ah see it, ye teel me yer problem, an' Ah'll see if Ah'll tak' it oan, an' we can gab abit whit size ay fee ye can afford tae pay as mah client. Och, an' nae need tae fash yersel' aboot yer papers. Ah willnae be wet fur lang."
Cyian started at the mention of his name." I wasn't ... " He took a breath and calmed himself. " Yes I would like to join you sir." He replied gathering his helm and shield and joining the others at their table, taking care to keep his damp person well away from Thorne's papers.
After some muttering and hand waving, Gildrim was as dry as if he had never left the tavern. "Ah can dae ye tay, laddie," he offered Cyian. "But whit ur ye lookin' at me aw th' time fur? Dae Ah hae a piece ay chookie caught in ma beard?"
"Och, an' Ah wis forgettin' it tay," he said, swivelling around and pointing a stubby finger. The last large piece of chicken wobbled slowly into the air and settled on the edge of Alvar Thorne's table, from which position Gildrim tore off morsels.
Ter-raen, having quietly observed the comedy going on for a while now, got up and moved over to Alvar Thorne's table. He stood there for a brief moment, looking at the man then said, "I'm looking for a job. Will work hard if the pay is right."
Cyian almost jumped out of his seat at this. "Hey I'm a warrior, and with Gildrim's spells we don't need anymore muscle. He could handle anything almost by himself, couldn't you Master Gildrim?" Cyian gives the Half-orc as mean an expression as he can, sixteen a scrawny he hardly presented an intimidating sight to the burly Half-Orc.
Ter-raen did not quite understand why this boy seemed to be angry with him, but he gave a mental shrugs. Less muscle, more danger, more pay. But the man's last sentence caused him to groan internally. Dwarf speaks terribly. Can't understand his words.
Cyian folded up in himself trying to act as if his outburst had never taken place. He did not want anyone to tell him to go, so he started adjusting the strap of his helm in the hope that his presence would be forgotten.
Alvar put down his papers again and frowned. It was quickly becoming clear that this was a normal expression for him. "Gentlemen, please. The task I have in mind calls for a good many hands. There is no reason to bicker, and certainly none to touch steel. Let's at least try to pretend that we're civilized for a little while, shall we? Now, sit down and enjoy the free refreshments while I finish looking at these accounts. I don't mean to keep you waiting unnecessarily, but I think perhaps one or two more adventurers are called for before we begin to get into specifics."
Ter-raen quietly obliged, pulling out a seat and sitting down. He spares another glance at Cyian, before fixing his gaze down on the table and waited for Alvar's briefing to begin.
Gildrim sighed and shook his head at the squabbling adventurers. "Ah kin see hoo this wee ceilidh is gonnae end... daggers in th' back at nicht. Mark mah words."
Cyian hunches his shoulders like he can already feel the blade biting into his back and shoots Ter-raen a fearful glance. Ter-raen secretly hoped that the dwarf would not sign up for the job, he could not understand a word the bearded one said.
Gildrim turned to Ter-raen and cleared his throat deciding to mend a few fences. "Ignore the soft-head human," he said in the guttural Orc tongue. "You're a big fellow. He's scared of you. He's frightened his sword isn't long enough, if you know what I mean. Now, orcs and dwarves don't see eye to eye in the main, but don't you think on that, either. You might be the misbegotten spawn of a monster, but I won't hold it against you. We'll get along fine." Gildrim beamed, showing somewhat yellow teeth.
Cyian stiffened at the first harsh word spoken by the dwarf, he listened curiously and then when Gildrim smiled he turned his head so he could watch the Half-Orc's reaction from the corner of his eye.
Ter-raen was genuinely surprised! He hasn't met any dwarves that knew Orcish thus far, and he lets the slight pass, well used to such prejudice by now. He replies in Orcish, with a slight nod, "Good to hear you speak Orc better than common. The young man worries too much." After his short reply, Ter-raen relaxed a little Maybe is good to have dwarf sign up too.
"Ah'm foo ay hidden talents," Gildrim.
Something hidden talents? Ter-raen is no longer bothered by the dwarf's speech impediment, now that he can speak properly with the dwarf when needed. He simply chuckles a little at that sentence.
Cyian watches the exchange not knowing if they are arguing or telling jokes. He felt alot better once he saw the half-orc relax." Ale?" he asked offering a tentative smile.
"Yes. Please." Ter-raen replied cheerfully accepting the young man's invitation, a pleasing thought in this rain. Looking at the dwarf, Ter-raen gestured to him with a wave of the hand, "Come, ale too?"
"Aye, Ah daur say it's time fur anither," Gildrim agreed.
"Well, I think that's about enough of that," Alvar said archly, signing his name with a flourish and handing the page back to the harried-looking halfling. He turned to the bar and calling, "Joe, the room we discussed is ready?"
Joe nodded waving a bar-rag towards a door in the back. Alvar stood and said, "If those of you who are interested in hearing the rest of my proposition would please follow me, we can get started." With that he strode toward the back room without waiting for a response.
The new companions exchanged glances, and after acquiring fresh mugs of ale followed Alvar into the back room. Inside was a long table, less worn and stained than the ones in the common room. The walls were thick plaster, and when the door closed the noise of the common room faded to a dull murmur. Thorne was seated at the head of the table and waited for the company to seat themselves before speaking.
"I know you all want to the details of exactly what I want of you, but I'm going to have to give a little background information, a history lesson if you will, in order for it to all make sense." Alvar's voice boomed out slightly too loudly for the room. "I shall try to make it quick."
"Two hundred years ago, the Grellgo river -- you all know the Grellgo? It's the big river running north towards Orussus from Lathim and points south. Anyway, two hundred years ago it was a much smaller river, and the lands along its banks were good farmland, not festering swamps. And the owners of that farmland ... Well. Since Orussus is ruled by a mayor and a council, you may have wondered -- I certainly have -- where all these lords and countesses and barons come from. It turns out that they are landowners, or were. They owned farmland. Good farmland." He smiled nastily.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago, some nameless river in the Badlands shifted course and became a tributary of the Grellgo. Overnight, the Grellgo tripled in size, jumped its banks, and flooded most of that good farmland. Family fortunes tracing back generations were wiped out in days. When the river settled into its present course, most of the best farmland had turned into swamplands: the Grellgo fens. Many of the noble families lost everything, and their names are mostly forgotten. A few managed to survive, much diminished, on other holdings: lesser farmlands, trade ships, gold stored elsewhere, and so forth. Those are the ancestors of our current crop of lordlings." His voice dripped with contempt.
"Now we come to my part in the story. My mother's aunt, Aurelia Higgenbottom, died ten years ago, and in her possessions we found a diary that had belonged to her mother; my great grandmother. The diary records that not long after her marriage to my great grandfather, she received word that her family home was lost in a flood. She goes on for several pages of rather purple prose about how she'll never see her childhood home again, which was painful to read, but was useful in that she described some of the landmarks in detail."
"Naturally, I gave the matter no further thought, but Fewtrell here," he waved toward the halfling, "It seems he makes a hobby out of studying genealogy. By referencing several old maps from before the flood, he has managed to present me a fairly convincing argument that the 'family home' she describes is the manor house of the Mordren family. The Mordrens were counts, and, if Fewtrell isn't mistaken, were among the most successful and respected of the noble families of the era. Their lands were entirely within the flooded lands, and the family was thought to be lost completely. But, if Fewtrell's theory is correct, my great grandmother might actually be the daughter of the last Count Mordren." He directed this mockingly towards the halfling.
"As genealogical evidence goes, this is pretty flimsy, and if I were to put myself forward as Count Mordren based on this, I would be a laughingstock. Even the fact that I'm thinking about it would be mildly embarrassing, which is why I'm asking all of you not to mention it, please. Now, I normally wouldn't give two bent coppers for the title to some land in a swamp, but it so happens that there are some business opportunities coming up which will be easier to capitalize on if I can call myself a count, so I've asked Fewtrell to look into the matter further, to see if there is any more evidence that might be found, and he's come up with something."
"Some other genealogical records of the time say that the Mordren family had a tradition of recording the births, marriages, and deaths of all the children of the current Count Mordren on a ceremonial funeral urn. When he died himself, his ashes were placed in the urn in the family crypt alongside the ashes of former counts. At first Fewtrell and I thought this wasn't helpful, since the urns would all be lost by now. But it seems that, according to my great grandmother's journal, the Mordren family manor house was actually at the crest of a small hill overlooking the surrounding area. Thus, it's quite possible that the house is still intact and the urn might be found." He leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.
"This is where you all come in. The swamps are dangerous enough that I can't just send one of my usual errand runners, and I can't spare any guards for the foreseeable future. But this is exactly the sort of task that you adventurers claim to be good at, so I thought I'd give you a try. My offer is this. I'll give 1500 crowns to whoever fetches me that urn. You can divide it amongst yourselves, however many of you there are, as you see fit. I'll provide maps indicating my best guess as to the location of the manor, but then you're on your own."
Alvar looked the group over coldly raising a hand to forestall any comments, "I am a well-known and respected merchant, with holdings in Orussus, Monemvassia, Fallon, and elsewhere. You will be paid upon delivery of the urn, lest any of you care to ask for an advance, I pay for results only – you will have to trust in my good faith. As for the area and its dangers, I know little other than that it's swampland. You should ask in one of those villages close to the swamps. There's one on the map, it's called..." He snaps his fingers, and Fewtrell whispers something in his ear. "...Cragger's Rest."
Gildrim listened, making the occasional ambiguous grunt noise. When Thorne finished, he rubbed a hand through his beard. "Ah dinnae hauld wi' grave robbin' - an' ay yer ain forebeir an' aw - but Ah daur say th' grave is in th' urn, an' nae th' urn itsel'. An' whit's an urn if nae somethin' that can be muived aboot? Ye micht be wantin' tae tak' it tae a noo restin' place wi' mair honoor, sae ye kin sleep at nicht, thocht, Thorne."
The dwarf paused considering the task. "Och, Ah dinnae like gettin' ma feet wet, an Ah cannae say it's a heroic cause, but Ah hae naethin' else oan mah plate. If we kin airt oot a few mair haunds, Ah'm in." He laughs, a gurgling sound from deep in his throat,
"Sae, it's a merse that's gane tae bog. Nocht but gellie-leeches an' bitin' midgies, Ah'll wager. If th' water is deep, Ah micht be wantin' a boat... a scowe tae skim ower th' reeds."
Alvar sniffed haughtily at the dwarf's words, “"Grave robbing? If the house actually stands where the journal describes, that means there's a pretty good chance that it and all of its contents belong to me. I can hardly steal from myself, now can I?"
Gildrim's accent became a little stronger as thrust a stubby finger at Thorne. "A grae belongs tae th' bodie restin' in it. Ye've nae richt tae tak' th' stane frae a tomb tae mak' a wall, e'en if yer hoose is fallin' doon." He harrumphs. "But Ah've seid ma bit. Ah'll brin' ye th' ashes ay yer forefaither. Truth be tauld, Ah'll be bringin' aw th' urns Ah kin fin'. Yer fowk will want tae stay restin' thegither."
Gildrim turns to look over the others in the room."Noo, Ah'm a follower ay Grendath an' He's gien me a wheen ay tricks. But Ah'm nae priest. Ah kin heal wee clouts an' cuts an' bruises, but Ah cannae dae much fur a spear in th' belly. We're wantin' a proper healer."
Cyian, quiet during Thorne's speech, shifted in his seat. A healer would be very welcome, especially in some swamp. He doesn't want to eat swamp grass to get better! He executed some hasty mental calculations and concluded that 1500 crowns split four ways was still a fortune by any measure.
"Ye twa leuk uissfu in a barnie," Gildrim said nodding to Cyian and, more enthusiastically to the half-orc. "Ye leuk... weel, ye leuk... ye leuk ready fur anythin'," he finished - unsure whether he had managed to convince himself.
Cyian beamed at what he chose to interpret as a compliment from the dwarf, "Yeah, we're ready for anything let's go."
"Grendath's hairy...! Hem... hem... Laddie," sighed Gildrim, "yoo're as flighty as a yearlin' goat. Thaur's mair tae hear frae Thorne haur. An' maps tae leuk at. An' preparations tae mak'."
The dwarf turned to Ter-Raen and asked, "Can ye nae sit oan heem an' keep heem quiet?"
Alvar stood. "Fewtrell, the map." The halfling dg out a rolled piece of paper, which Alvar took and handed to Gildrim. "Do you have any more questions? I need to be getting back to my offices soon."
A quick glance at the map revealed that it indicated an area about 100 miles south of Orussus, east of the main southern road, near the Grellgo river.
"Ah don't trust Cyian haur nae tae forgit it, aw dicht his dowp wi' it in a moment aw inattention. Ter-raen, can you read? Ah'm middlin' guid wi' maps. Ah think Ah'll haud it fer noo, if thaur's nae pleenin'?" said Gildrim.
"Leuks like a hunder miles tae me, if it's an inch. A sennicht thaur, an' a sennicht back, an' a speal in th' swamp. Three weeks ay fuid each. We kin buy some at Cragger's Rest."
Cyian sat back grumpily, crossing his arms and giving the dwarf a disgruntled stare. Just want to look at it, he thought. When the dwarf said it's a hundred miles his expression changed to that of an excited child ready to be off to his first fair.
Gildrim hopped to his feet. "Ah'm gonnae tak' a peek in th' main room again," he said. He opened the door with a crash and poked his head through.
xxxxxxxx
Erf had by this point made his way through the rain to the famous Red Dragon Inn. Only Fenenn's sodden fur and sneezing persuaded him to avoid examining the great petrified beast that cast its shadow over the establishment in more detail.
The driving rain had failed to combat Erf's relentless cheer though, and he hummed merrily as he and Fenenn approached the stables of the Red Dragon Inn. Having experienced, and fallen in love with, civilization in the tiny village of Daunton next to his Forest home Erf had become a great friend to the children of the village – in fact the first children Erf had met were now the village elders, humans grew up disquietingly fast – after following one of Fenenn's ancestors back to it. From his friends in the village Erf had learned of heroes and heard dozens of tails originating in the Red Dragon Inn. Now he was finally going to be part of one of these tails and he could barely contain his excitement.
However, first things were, by definition, supposed to be first and so Erf steered Fenenn around to the stables, the sodden pair emerging from the rain into the warm light of a stable. A young lad brushing a horse starred in surprise as the forest gnome dismounted and pulled a chunk of salted meat from a saddle bag, which Fenenn proceeded to wolf down.
“Ello there! I'm Erf, 'n' this wet one's Fenenn! We're 'ere te get in a bitte heroin' 'n' such. What's yer name? Do I need te pay fer stablin' 'n' such?” Erf said without pausing for breath.
The boy blinked slowly in response, and set his brush down carefully.
“I am Edrik, uh Sir, you, err, no, you don't need to pay, not if you are here for adventuring – this is the Red Dragon Inn. Ah, sorry, but, er, are you a goblin?”
The forest gnome sighs quietly – its not easy being green – and since traveling into civilized parts he's gotten that a lot.
“No I'm a forest gnome, I'm green 'cause, well, err, I don't really know. I suppose brown'd do as well. Just not beige, no offense, I'd stick out like a saw thumb in the trees if I was beige – pinky beige. Not that there's anythin' wrong with bein' beige I just don't see the point – ye should be grey, or brown, brown's very versatile that way ye could blend in with these honkin' big grey things ye live in.”
He shrugged, and began to remove Fenenn's saddle, all the time chatting away at a mile a minute pace with the startled Edrik – who managed to get enough words in edgeways to explain to Erf that he should introduce himself upon entering the Inn. Finally having finished tending to a dripping and despondent Wolf Hound he anxiously instructed the stable boy,
"He likes it if you scratch behind his ear, see? And he can stay up as late as he wants, but if you see him lickin' in certain areas distract him witha bit 'o' meat, here, if'n you'd be so good - I'm tryin' to teach 'im manners and whatnot."
Erf turned back to the massive dog, whose posture indicated a sulk, and waggled a finger and admonished,
"'N as for you Fenenn you be nice to me new friend here and don'cha do none of yer complain'in. Don't be givin' me no puppy dog eyes young fella me lad you've had your dinner and then some 'n I'm off to find mine and a bitte work so I can afford to feed ye ye big galoot!"
So saying Erf petted Fenenn, who bestowed a half hearted lick upon the gnome in response, grinned at the stable boy, glad of the proper etiquette advise the lad had bestowed upon him and entered the tavern proper.
Waving, as much so would people would notice him as in greeting, Erf made his way to the bar, scaled a barstool with practiced ease and positively beamed at the barman.
"'Ello there Master John, I'm Erf Rasbaer - means Friendly Greentree in Gnome - a Druid looking for a bitte work preferably where I might do some good. I'm mostly for the healing myself, but me honkin' big Wolf Hound Fenenn's a good sort to have at ye side in a fight."
Erf looked thoughtful for a moment before adding,
"I'm a Forest Gnome by the way, in case any of you fine folks was wonderin'"
And indeed Erf was tiny, even for a gnome, standing barely over two feet tall, and he was green, or at least a sort of mottled browney green with a incongorous grin splitting his little face and a pair of overlarge black eyes twinkling in the firelight. He could hardly wait to get started on an adventure, and wondered how long it would take for an opportunity to present itself – he would not have long to wait.
The door to a private room at the back of the tavern's main space crashed open and a dwarven head popped through followed shortly by a rumbling dwarven voice,
"Last chance! We're wantin' a healer, an' a body wha's in wi' a guid god, an' kin cast proper healin' spells!"
"'E by gum! Well it seems someones in need of me 'umble services Master John, may Verdante keep yer changes good!" Erf exclaimed excitedly, dropping off the barstool and making a hurried beeline for the Dwarf's retreating countenance, nearly tripping over his own feet in his hurry.
"Ohhh! Ohh! Oh! Master Dwarf, wait, I can heal, I can heal, and 'm good in the wilds! Oh Verdante's stifled sapling please wait!"
The dwarf caught the door and gave a low bow that brought his head almost level with the gnome's. "Gildrim, son ay Darak, ay Clan Nurazak," he said, adding in surprisingly good Gnome, "Jan skor neb enn. It's a blessing to meet a new companion. Nae hurry, we're still talkin'. Come on in, an' meet th' man wha's lookin' fur expert help."
"Erf Rasbaer, of the Owwed Tribe, very pleased to make yer acquaintance Master Gildrim - honor to you and your Clan may your beards flourish!"
The little Gnome bustles over and slips through the open door.
"Weel, that was quick," Gildrim chuckled, returning with an odd new companion, a gnome, following close behind. "Ah'll let him introduce himself later. Fur noo, tak' a leuk at this map, seg callad." He said as he passed the parchment over to the gnome.
Cyian mouths "seg callad?" Attempting to dredge up his knowledge of the gnome tongue as the newcomer looks over the map.
"Weel, Maister Thorne," Gildrim continues, "Ah ken fine ye're a well-respectit merchand, sae ye'll unnerstaund aw aboot contracts an' sae on. Lat's git it doon in writin' afair ye leave: we'll gae tae th' Grellgo swamps, airt oot yer ancestral hame, an' cairy back this urn. Onythin' in th' hoose is yers; onythin' ense we micht fin' elsewhere is oors. Nae, whit dae we git fur oor trooble if we gang aw th' way thaur tae fin' th' hoose ur th' urn is missin', sae as ye learn th' valuable lesson that ye kin gie up yer dream ay bein' a coont?"
Alvar nodded thoughtfully. "A fair point. What I seek is knowledge, one way or the other. If you can say under the influence of truth magic that you've searched the area thoroughly and there is no house there, or that you've searched the house and there are no such urns or other documentation of interest to me, I'll pay the full reward. Will that suffice?"
Before anyone could respond to Alvar's words Cyian's eyes buldged,
“Cousins?!” He spluttered looking from gnome to dwarf incredulously.
"Eh, what's that, Cyian? Coosins? Aye, dwarves an' gnomes ur stone-kin, aw fowk ken that. An' jist coz a fella is a wee bit green in th' gizz is nae reason tae doobt it. Sae, ye kin speak Gnome tay, kin ye? Guid, guid."
""'Ello Cyian! Cor I'm glad ye both speak Gnome makes me feel right at home! Yep Dwarves and Gnomes are Cousins, though I think us Forest Gnomes are farther removed than most! My Dwarven's dead rusty, hmm, but we can brush it up!" Erf enthused as he clambered into a chair that dwarfed his tiny personage, with practiced ease. His eyes flickered over the map alight with with interest. Giving a small satisfied nod he soon turned an incongruously large grin upon the company,
"Pleasure to meet ye all folks, I'm Erf, Erf Rasbaer – means Friendly Greentree, I guess it makes sense what with me bein' a Druid 'n such, though pers'nly I don't think ye can be too friendly like me tribe said." – bein' a forest gnome's why I'm green. Here's hopin' I can be of service. I may be little, but my motto has always been speak nicely and ride a big dog! In any case I knows me way around in the wilderness and I can do a bitte healing and a few other helpful tricks 'specially in the woods. Oh, and doncha worry about me slowin' you down, I just ride me dog so we'll be good!"
He grinned at everyone,
"Anyway, don't mind me I'll catch up do go on! I bet we're goin on a great quest and such right? I love you big guys, never dull, never dull!"
Ter-raen looked at the newcomer. Gnome healer. Both the new gnome and the dwarf seem to talk an awful lot. At least the gnome spoke clearly, or close enough. He is quietly amused by this party, it should be an interesting trip. Looking to the gnome he says,
"Ter-raen,” he prodded his chest, “welcome," a Half-Orc of few words.
Erf grinned and proffered an odd little bow to Ter-raen, he is about to launch into another onslaught of dialog when Gildrim cuts him off deciding to speed matters along.
"See, Ah seid Ah'd fin' a healer. Didnae tak' mair than fower breaths.” Gildrim chuckles, turning back to their employer he says, “Sae, Thorne, if ye're in a big hurry tae get back tae yer money-makin', ye kin draw up a contract noo, aw leave it tae yer halflin' adjutant."
Alvar frowned, "There will be no contract, as I said I am looking for discretion in this matter and the surfacing of such paperwork has the potential to cause me some embarrassment, you will simply have to take my word. I may also wish to avail myself of the service of those who frequent the Red Dragon in the future and if I cheat you Joe will not allow that.” Gildrim scowls, but nods begrudgingly. “Let me be clear, what I'm interested in from the house is documentation. If there are other valuables in the house that go missing, I won't be too concerned - within reason. I'm not one to muzzle the kine that treads the grain. Do try not to do any structural damage, though."
"Mair than generoos, mair than generoos. Ah'll do ma best tae fin' th' hoose aw th' place whaur it stuid. Ye hae th' wuid ay a Steady Anvil." The Dwarf responded.
“Sounds grand te me!” Erf chimed in happily.
Alvar nodded to Fewtrell, and the halfling gathered up his pile of papers with a practiced flick and stowed it in an oil-sealed leather box. "If there are any further questions, please contact Fewtrell through my offices at the north end of Merchant Street. Thank you for your time, and I hope to see you again soon, with a certain urn. I leave the choice to participate or not to you all the reward will remain the same to be divided as you see fit, good night." With that, he swept out of the room, with Fewtrell following close behind. For a moment, the new company could hear the bustle of the inn's common room before the door swung shut and the room fell silent.
Erf looked to his fellows
"So what do you do? Are you warriors? Ye look like warriors. I bet ye've had loads of adventures 'ey? Me and Fenenn been lookin' for a bitte adventure, but we've not had much luck. Still I bet we find all sorts of interesting stuff where we're headed, loads of dangerous stuff lives in swamps!" 'E by gum we'll find that urn fer wassisface fer ye! Sure as badgers burrow! I just gotta wonder what all we'll find livin' in their... nasty stuff in swamps, but whatever it is we can handle it!"
"Mmm, badgers," said Gildrim, smacking his lips reminiscently. "Ah havenae eaten a guid brock, ur ain at aw, since Ah left Nurazak Farnore."
Cyian resolved to keep quiet still astonished that he has been accepted by the group and anxious not to blow it. The little addition to the party spoke at a break neck pace which made understanding him just as difficult as Gildrim. At least they had a healer, which brought up the uncomfortable thought of needing to be healed – what had Gildrim said a spear through the guts?
Gildrim spread the map out on the table and the newly formed group gather around.
"Hmm... big swamp." Ter-raen commented, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
"It's nae wee," agreed Gildrim. "But if the map is reit, th' manor hoose is, ur was, aboot twenty miles due eest ay Cragger's Rest . We kin keep tae th' road an' ne'er see th' swamp till we reach th' village."
The Gnome let out a tiny half hearted sigh, and shrugged, before addressing the group as a whole,
"So if we're all agreed when'd we set off? I know I wouldn't mind waitin' out the rain, not that its the biggest bother. Maybe we could set out in the morning? We don't have too pressin' a need to hurry right?"
Taking a look out the small window Cyian nodded in agreement."It'll still be messy in the morning, but not as bad as all this." He said indicating the window with a wave of his hand.
"Well I don't know about you folks, but I'm for a long nights sleep in one of those humongous beds you folks like! But first I better bring Fenenn, that's me dog by the way, some milk and make sure he's settled in okay!"
Erf gave a grave little salute to the group and began making for the door.
"Aye, aye, see yer in th' morning', Erf. We kin go shoppin' th' morra, if onybody kin think ay whit we'll be needin'. Ah micht gie masel' a sheet ay canvas, tae keep cosy if we hae tae camp in th' swamp. Ah dinnae want tae sleep lyin' on th' wet ground."
Shortly after that the new company called it a night, anticipating the coming trials with varied emotions, from Erf's unbridled enthusiasm, to Cyian's fearful excitement. The pounding of the rain against the window panes of their comfortable rooms had a comfortable consistency and the tacit advantage of reminding them to enjoy their comforts while they were available.
