Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="pensiv" data-source="post: 1453571" data-attributes="member: 174">Simon's Merchant Log: Holdmarch - Jalston commuteMy friend Cyril and I hired a coach to take us from Holdmarch to Jalston, where we plan on setting up a stand at the market there for a day or so, at least until we run out of wares. I had Cyril make a few vitality potions for us to sell, while I collected some water and had it blessed at the local temple.The ride was pretty non-eventful. We stopped for a bit in Allflood to get some lunch. One of the locals tried to scare us by telling ghost stories while we were eating. He wanted us to believe that there were strange sounds like screams or something coming from the Trackless Moors to the south of Allflood.The second time we stopped we just stretched our legs. I always forget the name of this town, in spite of it being so nearby to Holdmarch. The coachman's crossbowman, Aidan, took a little longer than expected to return to the coach, but I think I was a little affected by the ghost stories at Allflood. Aidan looked a little sick, maybe he ate something bad back at the last stop.Cyril and I couldn't help but overhear the crossbowman and the coach driver gossiping as we got on our way again. Aidan said something about a woman they're acquainted with looking "off" and not recognizing him. When they noticed I was listening, I wasn't being at all subtle, they shut the divider and we couldn't hear any more.We got to Jalston finally near sundown. Aidan wants to sell us another bottle of wine--we bought one on the trip--but I'm not interested. One's enough for me, I don't think Cyril drinks wine too much. The coach will be around until morning if we want a ride back, but I doubt we'll sell our wares so fast--we never do.We caught a ferry across the river into Jalston proper and hunted down a place to stay. Aidan had suggested an inn called "The Captain's Table," so Cyril and I visited there first. There was some sort of guard outside, so we asked him about a room.After a little array of suspicious questions, specifically whether we were members of the merchant guild--which we're not--the doorman went inside for a little bit before returning to tell us that the inn was full. I think it's strange that the doorman had to go inside to find that out (how long had he been there?), but neither Cyril nor I wanted to press the matter, so we hustled to the town gates to try to get to Toeffer's temple inside.We narrowly made the gate before it was closed for the night. From there we asked directions to the Temple of Self-Reproach, the morbidly named local Toeffrun temple.It was dark, and the street was empty, excepting a small group of hecklers sitting outside Darien's temple. Now, I'm not a religious man, that sort of stuff is more of a commodity to me than a way of life. The Toefferites hate Darien's followers and vice versa. There's some bad blood that comes from some old legend regarding the gods' rivalry. I think it's silly to act out that rivalry amongst mortals, but what do I know?That being said, stalwart Cyril felt that the street was too dark and magicked it brighter by having his god light up the holy symbol Cyril wore on his chest. The hecklers found this very amusing and took the opportunity to identify themselves as thugs now. One whom I can only presume was the leader of the bunch stepped up to Cyril and offered the "hospitality" of the temple of Darien. Cyril politely refused; then they extended the offer to me and I also refused.Cyril was getting annoyed by the thugs closing in around us, so he brandished his sword and pointed it at the leader, daring the leader to attack; they did.Cyril and I took quite a beating before I was able to escape to the nearby guard tower. It turns out that the sots on duty were taking bets as to the outcome of the brawl. Luckily, the master guard embarrased himself by trying to spit on me (he ended up spitting on himself), which led to another guard getting tired of the whole situation and turning his crossbow on one of the thugs. The hapless thug took a bolt to his buttocks, which discouraged the rest of his kin from continuing the fight.We staggered from the scene quite bloody and bruised, barely making to Toeffer's temple without collapsing.Upon arriving at the Temple of Self-Reproach, Cyril and I were greeted with a disturbing display of what I can only call self-reproach. Quite a bit of penance was being performed--and encouraged from us--but we were able to get a place to sleep and have our wounds tended to by the temple's clerics and nurses.It was a long day and I'm sure I will be getting a good, long night's rest.</blockquote>

Verification