Before the Rise of Tiamat

[Envisioner]

(Don't mind the "Wiki" tag, the forum seems to be having technical issues, and I'm not being given any other options.)

In a peaceful little southern town by the name of Greenest, populated mostly by humans with a significant minority of halflings, two dwarves both happened to check into the travelers' hostel within an hour of each other, and one was on his way out for an errand when the other walked in. (The players can figure out the details; one reasonable possibility would be that Grimnir showed up first, dropped off his laundry or whatever, and then headed out to visit a temple, which probably wouldn't specifically relate to his faith, but he could probably find an altar to some generic nature deity who is semi-secretly an ally of Umberlee.) Trading adventuring stories as adventurers generally do (even if this isn't quite a typical tavern, since the bar and the inn are in different buildings), the two dwarves struck up at least the beginnings of an acquaintance, while persons of greater or lesser height wandered by and occasionally goggled at them just a bit (they do at least try not to be rude).

The sun is an hour or two from going down....

 

[gargoyleking]

Mornok was surprised as he was about to step into the door to the inn, another dwarf was just coming out, and this one seemed to have a strange briny scent to him. The shield dwarf took a few moments to let his eyes adjust to the darkness although he quickly noticed the fine dwarven armor the other wore, though it's design was a bit strange to his eyes.

"Ach, now that be a fine suit friend. Mornok Storm'ammer of Citadel Abdar, glad t' meet ye'!"

 

[JustinCase]

Grimnir nods politely at first, then a smile crosses his face.

"Many thanks, the armor was my father's who had it made in Mirabar when he was a lad! My name is Grimnir Hammerdeep of Luskan, well met," the more tanned dwarf replies in the common tongue, his speech mostly devoid of the usual dwarven accent.

"He was a sailor, like myself, and was originally from the Giant's Run Mountains in the south. Can I offer you a drink as I practise my Dwarvish?"

The gold dwarf fiddles with the simple metal disc with a symbol of two waves, that is connected to a simple chain around his neck. She can wait for her sacrifice a little longer, this far from her realm, Grimnir thinks to himself, and decides to postpone his visit to a shrine or temple for a bit.

 

[Envisioner]

While the two dwarves get to know each other (OOC: I'm gonna let them have at least one more back-and-forth before I give them a plot hook), a different meeting is taking place just a few houses down the main thoroughfare of Greenest village. When Lyle was deciding to come back to his prior hometown and replant some of the roots he had pulled up a few years earlier, he made sure to move into an available dwelling which was close to the town's traveler's hostel, its freestanding pub, and other such amenities catering to the fairly frequent merchant traffic that comes through this thriving village. The more places there are for rich passers-by to deposit their spare coins, the better the locals live, and the better they live, the more opportunities they can create for wealth to be redistributed; it's a beautiful cycle. While currently disinclined toward active larceny (both out of legitimate fondness for the town he grew up in, and because a sensible person keeps their metaphorical larder and privy well-separated), Lyle certainly feels more comfortable knowing that he is close to the flow of trade, just in case he decides he absolutely needs to keep his skills in practice.

So, for the moment at least, he's not a thief (or a "borrower", as the Little People often euphemistically term this activity); he's just the resident of #3 Main Street East, a pleasant little bungalow only a couple doors away from the roundabout where wagons tend to pull up for the night, allowing their teamsters and passengers to seek out the bar, the several small restaurants, or even the well-disguised house of ill repute, among other less stereotypical destinations. And, in his capacity as resident, he's currently performing one of the unofficial duties of any good citizen who wishes to keep himself utterly above suspicion - paying a social call upon one of his neighbors, in order to exchange small gifts, trade favors, arrange opportunities for other acquaintances, and engage in general gossip and small talk. The neighbor he's currently calling upon is Ms. Galena Goodburroughs, a platonic friend from back in the day when you were both little "kithlings" of allied hobbit families. Though she's only sixty-five, and thus still in the prime of midlife, she's already settled comfortably into the lifestyle of a nonagenarian spinster, sharing her dwelling with a smallish cat and two even smaller dogs which she treats as if they were cats; she makes her living by selling odd little curios that she creates out of materials others dismiss as junk, such as lovingly polishing discarded metal sprockets and turning them into jewelry for faddish human noblewomen. (You've wondered once in a while whether her family might have a touch of gnomish blood, but then, none of them seem to share her predilections; maybe she was "touched by the faeries", euphemistically or otherwise, at a formative age...or perhaps she's just a bit of an odd duck, for no reason at all.) Right now, she's knitting a caftan for one of her second cousins' nephews' schoolmates over in Berdusk; it'll be a week before it leaves her hands for a caravan heading in that direction, and another month before it arrives in the cousin's hands to be distributed to the nephew so he can take it to school, but despite this, nothing will do but that she gets it finished tonight. So, while you listen to her gossip about recent comings and goings in the area, you're forced to endure the clacking of her silvered needles (one of which is a novelty painted in light metallic green), and she has failed to offer you any baked goods to snack on while you listen, as she typically otherwise would.

 

[gnarlygninja]

There were times after his move to Baldur's Gate when Lyle missed Greenest badly to ruin his day. These spells came with little warning, brought up whenever he'd use a piece of slang no one around him recognized, or the kind of seeds an innkeeper used in seed cakes, sometimes just the general sounds and smells of the city would bring them on. In these moments he'd stop and remember his home fondly. In Greenest people would take the time to talk to you, and never rudely rushed out of a conversation. In Greenest no one ever skimped on the honey when they made a cake, and there was always enough butter for both sides of your bread. In Greenest no one ever decided you were paying back your loan too slowly and robbed you in broad daylight, leaving you with little more than the hair on your feet.

Since moving back, there had been a handful of moments where Greenest lived up to his romanticized memories. This, however, was not one of them.

The steady rhythm of Galena's knitting threatened to put Lyle to sleep, and her uncharacteristic lack of food didn't help. Lyle caught himself in the middle of a snore and attempted to turn it into a cough. He decided this was a good opportunity to steer the conversation in a more fruitful direction. "Sorry Gal, I've had this cough for a few days now. Could I trouble you for a spot of tea? Maybe a few honey cakes? I've got a lovely bit of roast chicken at home I could run back and share. Oh, and you haven't noticed anyone unusual recently have you, or anyone asking about me?"

 

[Envisioner]

OOC: gotta think about how to respond to lyle, so just a quick weather report, which the characters may not even be aware of until they go outside.

A dark storm cloud appears on the horizon.

 

[gargoyleking]

"Aye, you know I been in th' market fer a good suit o' dwarven scale. I cannae stand th' penny pinchin' army o' th' citadel. I earned my armor th' standard way, but when my time were up they said they 'ad a new policy. ACH!!! spits But ye dunnae need to 'ear about that. Tell me, how's a dwarf end up floating around in' more'n a small pond?"

Mornok spoke as they walked to a nearby tavern and settled onto a barstool.

"Barkeep, somethin' dark an' dinnae skimp on th' head! A good ale need's a nice head on it."

 

[JustinCase]

"Make it two each," Grimnir adds with a smile at the barkeep. "First one for quenching our thirst, second one just to enjoy."

The gold dwarf settles on his stool and, once the drinks arrive, raises one mug in toast before taking a big gulp.

"I was born on my Mum's ship, so it seemed only fitting to live there. The sea can be a generous mistress, but like a heavy storm after a sunny day her mood can turn sour abruptly," the sailor says in Dwarvish with just a hint of sadness and fear in his voice. "Right now I fear that she is angry at me for no reason I can fathom, and I find it best to stay out of her way for a while."

After a second gulp of ale, Grimnir takes his holy symbol and pours the rest of his first drink over the disc while muttering a small prayer. A small puddle of beer forms on the bar, and the dwarf uses his right hand to create a sort of river to the edge, where he holds up his empty waterskin to catch some of the liquid.

"Far out of her way," he adds softly, then looks up at Mornok.

"Have you checked the local smithy yet? Don't know if there are any dwarves working there, but it's worth taking a look. And I doubt they've got too many customers so with some haggling you might get a discount."

Looking the other dwarf up and down, Grimnir adds, "So what's a mage doing in Greenest?"

 

[gargoyleking]

Lookin' t' make a bit o' coin honestly, I been on th' road fer a time an' my reserves are low. B'sides, I do need t' find a good suit o' scale I dinnae understand how they manage up 'ere without some real protection."

Mornok smiles as the tankards are brought out and he happily downs the first in one go.

 

[JustinCase]

"Aye, making some coin helps with purchasing quality stuff," Grimnir agrees as he starts on his second ale, his little sacrifice to Umberlee completed to his satisfaction.

"What are you thinking? Caravan guard? Adventuring? Diving for sunken merchant ships?" The latter suggestion is followed by a wink.