Forged Fury
First Post
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Brue, Corilo, and Boddynock settled in for the night. The earth genasi offered healing to all takers, while Corilo remained quietly contemplative in one corner of the room. Boddynock lit a fire with magical efficiency and the three tried to dry off. They were fortunate that Tethyr was a generally arid region, even here by the coast, promoting a quick air drying of their clothing. As Brue arranged her armor pieces in a semi-circle around the fire, the sorcerer spread out a small trove of gears, springs, wheels, and other metal tidbits, selecting a few here and there and placing them in a separate pile. Nodding in satisfaction, he returned the remainder of the doodads to his backpack and pulled out some tools. Resting a small fixed wrench against his chin, he thought for a moment before raising a finger in inspiration. Getting to work, the gnome started to assemble the pieces he had piled together. After about an hour, the thingamajig had finally taken shape. It appeared to be some kind of arm and mirror contraption. Setting it up carefully in the window, the gnome dashed over to the bed he had staked claim on and sited down a small tube to check his bearings. "That should do it!"
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Lorenzo and Gnorth, in the other room, were not quite ready to call it a night. One grabbed a flask, the other a handful of coins; the two made their way out into the city. It seemed that Devlin had taken the liberty of tying down Lorenzo's cart and providing Andel with a feedbag full of oats and a trough of water. Wandering through town, the men were drawn to an area further down the dock that seemed well lit. With most of the inns and taverns having been destroyed, it looked like some of the tavern-keepers had gotten together to set-up an open air tavern in the middle of the harbor boardwalk. A number of temporary bars had been set up, little more than a plank across two barrels with a keg or two behind each. Tables stood around the area wherever they could be placed. Even though the city had been attacked, most of the ships bound for Port Kir had been en route when the attacks had occurred and the captains of the vessels had little choice about whether to stop or not. They were in need of fresh supplies. Of course, the sailors needed their recreation and the tavern-keepers were not going to let the small matter of an ogre attack keep them from providing it.
Gnorth struck up conversations as best he could, although his not-quite-there grasp of Common didn't help the situation. Once he started to tell his stories and beat his drum, however, several of the sailors and city-dwellers warmed to the half-orc. He gleaned a few tidbits about the attack, although most of it focused on what the attacks meant for the elf wizard, Haedirn. One of the men tending bar said, "Sad, thing, really, that old elf. Been comin round here since me pa was me boy’s age now. Never could afford what he sold, but he was kind and the kids liked him when he came about." Another bar tender offered, "Haedirn was gentle, but he was powerful. Even in numbers, I don’t think these wretched ogres would be a match for him. It’s a sad day if he is slain by their ilk.”
Lorenzo, for his part, knew if there were sailors, there would be games of chance. Quickly finding one, he sat down and was dealt into a hand of black knave. The game moved quickly and the faithful of Tymora did his best to manipulate it to bolster the other player's faith in Lady Luck. He also overhead talk of the attacks. "Never trusted wizards as far as I could throw them," a rough looking man at the table next to his said, "but Haedirn was more than that. He used to be an adventurer back when I was just a tyke, and they say he’s got gold and magic trinkets out in that house of his in the cliffs." One of the sailors at his table, a man working a fishing ship based out of Port Kir, asked, "Anyone see Gertz lately? Did he get took in the attacks? From what I heard, it was mostly visitors to town that got took. I know he usually travels once a month for a few days, but he had just gotten back before the attack happened. Bastard owes me money."
Completing their revelry, the men returned to the remains of the Triton's Tankard and found their room. They heard only silence next door, along with the occasional creaking of strained wood from somewhere far below. Stumbling a bit to their beds, they fell asleep quickly.
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