When Tommi got out of jail, the guard said "See you soon."
Within an hour, he was visiting his mom, arriving with a bag of groceries, but he soon popped off for an afternoon at the Daggerthrust Alehouse. He never unpacked the groceries, and his mom ended up eating alone that night, and so it was that by midnight, Tommi was at the Lady Luck Tavern, playing cards.
He wouldn't win a lot at first: small bets, appear to drink more than he did, friendly and easy and folding often. That was enough to get Stumpy to trust him. The dwarf's name wasn't stumpy, but Tommi couldn't pronounce Stompi correctly, or he chose not to be able to. Stumpy was the fish, and by dawn he was hooked; and by the end of the week, he had sold his armour and his axe, all to make that big bet that would win all he had lost back.
Which was when Tommi made his big finishing move, taking Stumpy (and the rest of the table) by surprise, winning all that had accumulated over a week of play. But the dwarf had a temper, and had increasingly taken to drinking too much. Words were had, and then fists. A table was turned, and soon there was a full-on brawl.
The proprietor, Glenys, laughed until things got out of hand, and then she sent for the constable, who arrived in time to see someone defenestrated. All involved were rounded up roughly, Tommi roughest of all, though he had not been involved in the worst of the fighting. They spent the night in lockup, and fined to pay for damages. As Tommi was one of the few with any money, he was fined the worst.
Destitute, and fingered as the instigator, the dwarf, Stompi, was sent to serve time as a rower on one of the trading longboats, and left Daggerford the following morning in disgrace. Unable to come up with any excuses to keep him, the constable, Sherlen Miller, who's mother was close friends with Tommi's mother, shook her head in disgust and returned his property to him.
"Go take care of your poor mother," she scolded her childhood sweetheart, and sent him out.
When Tommi left the jailhouse, the guard winked and said "See you soon."
Tommi is surprised to find he is still up 15 gold pieces (in various coins and cheap gems)
Daggerford Places: The Lady Luck Tavern (area 17)
The Lady Luck Tavern is named after Tymora, goddess of Luck, and it has built its reputation around those who take risks. Inside, most of the first floor is dedicated to a taproom with second-floor seating on balconies all around it. At the center of this space stands a rough stone pillar upon which rests the roof. Iron rungs are set into the pillar so that individuals can climb and mark it with symbols or messages dedicated to those who have died in battle or disappeared on quests. The rest of the tavern is decorated with shields, weapons, and banners. Any toast given in the tavern must include a libation to “those who have fallen before us.”
During the caravan season, the tavern’s female human owner, Glenys, runs a roaring trade with clients consisting mainly of caravan guards and other travelers. Gambling occurs at all hours, with Glenys sponsoring a big game on most evenings. Winter proves a quieter time, when locals come for mulled wine and to play a few hands of cards, lanceboard, or other table games.
The local priest of Tymora, a halfling named Curran Corvalin spends most evenings here. He pays to fill Tymora’s Cup, a drink customarily set aside on the bar for Lady Luck, in case she decides to drop in.
Dandin had cornered a local shepherd at the farmer's gate and had talked him down on all his fleeces. The man went away angry, and the halfling merchant was disappointed that he probably wouldn't be able to use this tactic again, but he led his donkey to market, and he set himself up selling the "finest fleece from the private stock of the Open Lord of Waterdeep".
At the high price he was asking for modest fleece, it took him awhile to find a buyer with a suitably dull-eye for wool, but he talked his product up with a sharp wit that the dubious eyes of the merchants at his neighbouring stalls turned to sparkles, laughter, and nods. Although well-known in the market, no-one could be quite sure that Dandin hadn't found a way to import Waterdhavian wool.
So after a few days, his neighbouring merchants confirmed to anyone who asked that Dandin had travelled all the way to Waterdeep for only the best wool, complicit in his tall tales. Buyers flocked to his cart, and Dandin moved fleece after mediocre fleece at easily three times what they were worth.
When his supply ran out, he packed up his cart, and took his little lockbox with him as he went into the Guildhall to pay his market fees. The long building behind the market was a foreboding hall of grey stone and old oak, but Dandin had wandered it's drafty halls for years. He paid his dues to a dour Merchants' Guild accountant, and sat in a small room with a desk, scale, and a hard oak stool, counting his earnings while singing to himself.
His voice carried down the echoing halls, and it made more than one hardworking guilds-man look up from his work and smile.
Dandin is up 16 gold pieces in various coins and trade baubles
Places of Daggerford: The Markeplace and Guldmaster's Hall (Area 14)
The Guildmasters’ Hall near the marketplace serves as a library of guild records, the offices for guild leaders, and meeting halls for the guilds.The town’s charter allows for a council to control affairs in the duke’s stead, and for centuries, the town’s guild leaders have been a part of it. It surprises some newcomers that such a small community has guilds, but many guilds have only a handful of members. Some, such as the Watermens’ Guild, consist of a single business. As with the guilds of large cities, the guilds here regulate competition and set parameters for master-and-apprentice and worker-employer relationships. But the guilds of Daggerford feel more like families than mere associations.
The guilds include the Smiths, Merchants, Tanners, Farmers, Watermens, Rivermens, Taverners, Scriveners, Clothiers, and the Carpenters Guild. The guilds group together many associated occupations, so innkeepers are part of the Taverners’ Guild, and the
Scriveners’ Guild includes those who work at the Sword Coast Traders’ Bank. Many folk are members of more than one guild, such as the owner of the Otter’s Run, who is a taverner, a tanner (furrier), and a merchant.
Trista was old. She was nearly a hundred, and in the seven decades that had passed since she had taken the position and office of her mentor, Gwaereth (that of court wizard to the Dukes of Daggerford), she had never seen his creation move. In fact,in her old age she had nearly forgotten that it was a construct, and not yet another suit of armour like the many that decorated the Ducal Castle. But today, suddenly and without warning, it stepped off the platform on which it had rested for so many decades, (dusted by scores of maids) and nearly scared her to death.
This was no joke - the old woman's heart was not quite as strong as it had once been. She had just been busy in her work, preparing a draught for the duke that would ease his often troubled sleep, when the gleaming armour had marched with purpose across the floor of her laboratory and down the spiral staircase to the Duke's Library below. She had called out to it, but it hadn't responded.
Immediately the construct had searched the shelf for books on Thay, a nation far to the east, built on the back of slavery, ruled by the infamous Szass Tam and the schemes of his Red Wizards. There was little to find, but what there was the construct appeared to be rapidly memorising. It would get a book (the ladder creaking under it's weight), and flip through the pages, then slam the book shut and return it to the exact place it had been taken from.
A long-forgotten memory returned to Trista, of Gwaereth, sitting in his study speaking softly as if to a child, to the unattached head of this very construct as he had tinkered with it. Beyond bringing him some parts and supplies, Trista had not been involved, but she had kept many of her mentor's old notes. She returned to her laboratory slowly, as her knees were not as good on the stairs as they had once been. She found her keys, removed some smaller boxes, and opened an old chest. Inside were papers, yellowed and stained from the passage of time. Finding what she was looking for, she nodded and shut the chest.
Returning down the stairs, she found the construct had moved on to her personal shelf of magical tomes. (The current Duke rarely used the Library - but his sister did, and she allowed the old wizard to keep her own books within the library itself when her laboratory had become too cluttered.)
Proud of herself for having found the name that Gwaereth the Gray had given it, Trista called out to the contruct, "Enseth!"
The construct's obsession calmed to a profound interest, as it calculated that it could not act alone, and would have to find allies if it were to eventually complete it's mission.
Enseth has memorised a brief history of Thay and finding that it holds a large undead population, has successfully stored the equivalent of a Scroll of Protection from Evil in your memory. It can be cast once.
Places of Daggerford: The Ducal Castle (Area 7)
The castle stands in the same spot as the founder's original wood fortification: on a hill overlooking the rest of the town. It was rebuilt in stone by the dwarven Ironeater clan when they came to Daggerford over a century ago. The dungeons that worm through the hill beneath it are even older. The ducal gate leads to the town and is usually open. Inside the castle courtyard are the duke’s private parade grounds, herb and fruit gardens, and the duke’s fortified manor. The castle’s larder is well stocked with preserved food, enough for a year’s siege. About fifty people live in the castle, including guards and servants. Trista the Shadowed, the venerable court wizard, has her laboratory and private chambers in the manor's attic.
Dandin chuckled to himself one last time as he dropped the coins, one at a time, into his pouch. He enjoyed the sound almost too much. Drawing the pouch shut he sauntered out into the waning light of the sun. Blinking he looked about the guild hall yard and spying his cart, walked over to it. "Well Hanar, we had ourselves a very good day. Lets go pay our dues at the shrine and then see about getting a bit of rest."
After doing a quick check onnthe cart, Dandin climbed up and took the reigns. It was a fairly short trip distance, but the route took them through the market and past the Caravan gate. At this time of day, there was always bound to be a certain amount of backup so Dandin sat back on the bench nd took his ease as well he. Could. Eventually, they were past the worst of the traffic, and shortly parked outside of the shrine to Tymora.
"Go take care of your poor mother," the constable had scolded him, and sent him out. They both smiled at each other.
"She misses you too, you know," he had responded.
When Tommi left the jailhouse, the guard winked and said "See you soon." Tommi ran his fingers through his hair as the morning sun hit him. He rubbed his teeth with his index finger, until he could find a mint leaf in someone's garden to fix his breath, and he headed towards the central well. The town council's new fountain was jammed again (something always ended up clogging those pipes), and so it was back to the same well that had been used since Daggerford had been founded, and this morning there were already a half dozen people, all women, queued up to fetch water.
Tommi buys himself a small bucket (5cp) and stands in line to fill it. He then brings the bucket to his mom's place, where he finds Jyn hard at work -- she will have begun working before dawn, when it was still quiet -- making a blanket.
He greets her with a kiss on the cheek, and she responds with "This is for Marigold." The arch of her eyebrow lets him know there's a story there, which begins as he covers the bucket in the pantry. It's a nice morning, and Tommi happily greets the regular array of visitors Jyn habitually receives, each paying court to a respected widow of the community.
Tommi sits through it all, one leg bouncing furiously in what appears to be impatience, but in fact is just excess energy. At one point he excuses himself, finds some soap and cleans himself up. In doing so, he's used half of the water he has brought.
When they are finally alone, Tommi says to her, "Ma?"
"Nothing. Look. I'll be back in a bit. Take care now." He kisses her again, and heads off down the road, to find a tavern. "Maybe I'll try the Happy Cow."
"Lionel!" called his mother, Wilhelmina Hardcheese, "Is the mutton ready? Your sister is ready to take it up to Sir Isteval! Can't keep a Purple Knight waiting, dear!"
Lionel was on top of things. He quickly passed the perfectly cooked meat to his mother, who put it on the finest silver serving plate and passed it off to his sister, Hermione, who hustled up the stairs from the kitchen. His mother was short, even for a halfling, and she was nearly as wide as she was tall, but she made up for her stature with a personality to rival any ten taller folk. She was loud and hard-headed, but she was also generous and kind. She loved her son, but she had high expectations for him.
A few days later, she was at it again: "Lionel! she called, "Hammer Darrondar's tithe-box is stuck again! You don't want to anger Tempus do you? Let's keep wars away from Daggerford, shall we? That's a dear."
Lionel got out his small tools and made quick work of the bent lock. After giving a receipt to the dwarven priest who had come on behalf of the Table of the Sword, he deposited the money into the Hardcheese vault, hidden deep in their cellars, behind innocuous-looking (but smelly) cheese-ageing racks.
A few days later, "Lionel!" she said as they passed by a halfling selling trumped-up fleece at the market, "That poor fellow is going to be killed! What would your father say if we stood by and did nothing? You'd better help him!"
She drew his attention away from the wool-seller and to a human man who was struggling with a spirited horse. The animal reared and kicked as the man, standing in front, grabbed at the reins. It nearly cost him his head. Lionel rushed forward, and rolled under the animal as it turned toward him. He jumped up on a market stall's table and leaped into the saddle. The horse bucked once, but Lionel kept his seat. Speaking softly into the horses ear while gathering the reins, Lionel calmed the beast and returned it to it's grateful owner.
A few days later, "Lionel!" his mother called again. He came from the kitchen where he had been organising his spice-rack, expecting to find some task or another that needed immediate attention. His mother smiled and gave him a small bag of gold, "Why don't you take a few days off? You've had a busy week! Go out and enjoy yourself. Find a nice young woman!"
She winked and laughed, and his sister giggled.
Lionel has a bag with 10gp, a loaf of cheesebread (in case he gets hungry) and a pretty brooch worth 10gp, in case he finds a girl and needs a gift for her.
Places of Daggerford: The Happy Cow Tavern (Area 15)
The Hardcheese family of strongheart halflings has run the Happy Cow Tavern, a homey alehouse, for generations. The drink is cheap, the pace is slow, and the talk is about farms and farming. The Hardcheeses run a large dairy operation and own various pieces of good farmland around Daggerford that they rent out to tenants. These farms provide the tavern with the cheeses that gave the halflings their family name and the other simple staples served at the Happy Cow. The Hardcheeses are well known for their generosity, and they are happy to lend money to folk they know. Their bar serves as a bank to most of the farmers of the region, much to the consternation of Lady Belinda Anteos of the Sword Coast Traders’ Bank.
The stretches of wilderness between Daggerford and Waterdeep weren’t the most dangerous stretch of the Trade Way, but they still required caravan guards. Even though he was the regional head of the Honack family’s Golden Way Trade Consortium. Consisting of sponsored caravans, waystations, and costers along the trade routes from Kara Tur to Waterdeep, based in Westage, the end of the Golden Way, it formed a vast guild of merchants and traders stretching from the Savage North to Shou Lung.
And to Angis’ bane, he was charged with the northern reaches of the company, from Waterdeep to Baldur’s Gate, and stretching up to resurgent Neverwinter. There was even talk of tapping the scrimshaw trade from Icewind Dale, though that would mean negotiating with the Ships of Luskan.
Despite being the nominal head of the company in Waterdeep, Angis knew to leave such business dealings to those smarter and with a better grasp of money. He was a humble dwarf, and felt more at home living in Daggerford, just a few days’ travel from Waterdeep. Caravans needing guards passed through frequently enough that he had little trouble signing on for trips in both directions when he needed to check in with the Waterdeep offices.
This is where he preferred to spend his time, out in the wilderness, away from people. As the hours passed, he occasionally reached inside his chain shirt and pulled out a small oilskin package. Inside was a delicate pink handkerchief tied off with a silk ribbon and still holding the scent of a lady’s perfume. Inside was a lock of fine, red-gold hair. He usually only pulled it out at night. He inhaled the familiar perfume a moment before tucking it back inside where it would be safe.
Much of guard duty is simple, boring watchfulness, and this run proved no different. Occasionally there was a bout of mundane excitement, such as when a wagon got stuck in the muddy road and had to be pushed out. Thankfully on this run, there was no trouble. But that left listening to the Consortium’s steward in Waterdeep as he went over the business notes for the month and asked Angis for an evaluation of their plans for the next.
Angis had little real desire and knowledge of such things. He was merely doing his duty as the younger son. He gave a few vague comments and trusted the steward’s judgement in such matters. He wanted to be back in Daggerford, and so the next morning he set out and after a long journey, he strode into his rooms in the Silver Flood Inn. He took a wash before ending up at his favorite drinking spot, the Happy Cow Tavern.
Angis' guard duty paid his personal pocket 12 gold pieces. There was actually surprisingly little activity along the road, in particular on the way back. (Thanks for writing the post! I don't really have anything to add at the moment.)
Places of Daggerford: Silver Flood Inn (Area 22)
The Silver Flood Inn was established during a short-lived silver rush in the Sword Hills a few decades ago. It maintains this atmosphere with mining tools as decorations and “silver” cutlery, cups, and plates in its small breakfast room (actually all pewter). The building has many small rooms suitable for one or two people, and during busy times the breakfast room doubles as a common room for sleepers at night.
The current innkeepers are two boisterous human Northlanders, Connar Filvarson and Ganfar Redgrin. Their arrival and acquiring of the inn is cause of considerable gossip. During a nightlong celebration, they and a handful of companions did so much damage to the inn that the militia mustered to arrest them. Their companions fled, but Connar and Ganfar instead offered to repay the previous innkeeper. Their drunken proposal was laughed at until they produced a rough-cut diamond as big as a halfling’s thumb. The duke struck a deal on behalf of the two parties, with the result that the previous innkeeper became a rich man, the duke got a beautiful new diamond ring, and the Northlanders became property owners.
"Lionel!" reverberated through the kitchen for the hundredth time that day, it was only morning, and Lionel sighed as he put down the parsnips he was preparing for the lunchtime soup. What now? he thought to himself. The spices were ground and mixed, the pot ready for the slow simmering process and he had just reorganised his spice rack.
But as his mother bustled in she handed him coins, food and broach. "Why don't you take a few days off? You've had a busy week! Go out and enjoy yourself. Find a nice young woman!"
Lionels round face coloured, "MUM!"
"Thanks mum," he gives her round cheek an affectionate kiss. "I'll finish up preparing the parsnips for lunch. Now, not too much salt this time. Okay?"
With a mock glare at his sister he steps out of the tavern to enjoy some time off and almost walked into Tommi.
Subconsciously checking his belongings he smiles, "Hey Tommi, out already?"
[MENTION=23484]Kobold Stew[/MENTION] : is it OK for Lionel and Tommi to know each other with some degree of familiarity?
Generally locals know each other. It's all the people who come-and-go that are strangers. In fact, you know one of them, too. Angis is drinking here this afternoon, and tends to do so when he is in town. The Hardcheeses consider Angus a good customer, but they think of him as a caravan guard, and not a shipping scion. Your Mom won't begrudge you a few drinks in the Happy Cow before you head out on the town. In particular if you are with paying customers.
In learning the art of herbalism, Snake started with the most obvious teacher: Helmick Hawager, the owner of a large and prosperous herb and spice shop near the Farmer's Gate. Friendly and eccentric, the half-elf of indeterminate age was happy to have snake organise his shelves, and the breadth of his knowledge of outlandish and exotic herbs and spices were second-to-none. On the other hand, Helmick had wild ideas as to the herbs' uses (or indeed, to the uses of other items, as Snake saw him sell a circlet of brass to a woman on the pretext that putting it around her newborn's head would make the child grow smarter.)
After a few days of sorting bottles, Snake thanked him for his time, having learned the basics of how to tell one thing from another (a skill more useful than he imagined it to be.) But Snake was terrible at sticking to a place, so he tried again with what would have been his first choice: The priestess of Chauntea at Harvest House. Hadeshah was there this time (she'd been away blessing a calf's birth at a farm when he had tried before) but she was too busy to teach the skill - she needed assistants who already knew their way with that sort of thing, but she kindly suggested (in her quiet way), a Calishite midwife she had encountered in the Shanties.
So snake returned to his favourite hunting grounds, the collection of shacks where he was known as "Ratcatcher". There he quickly found the midwife that the locals called "Grandmother", in spite of her being of only middle-years. (Her true name was a very long Calishite name that detailed her lineage). For the next few days, he mostly carried water for her (which tried his nerves), but in the evenings she taught him much about how to work a mortar-and-pestle, and how best to administer pain-killers and nutritional supplements for pregnancy.
On this day, Grandmother had sent him out into the farmlands to find certain herbs that promised to help get things moving for a woman with a particularly late-term pregnancy. He was certain he had found the correct things, and was hoping he would be trusted to attend the birth. Snake came into town through the Farmer's Gate, and he could hear the sounds of raucous laughter from the Happy Cow Tavern as he crossed the wide street to avoid a puddle...
Snake must purchase an Herbalism kit (two if he didn't already have one) - he's used one up and is on his second. He is 3/8 of the way to gaining proficiency.
Places of Daggerford: Helmick’s Herbs and Oddments (Area 40)
The half-elf Helmick Howager specializes in importing and foraging for spices, which he sells at Helmick’s Herbs and Oddments (area 40). He also picks up crystals, strangely shaped roots, pretty bird feathers—basically anything he thinks looks “mystical”—and then strings them together in pretty baubles made to ward off bad dreams or win back a lover. The oddments are harmless charms, but many a mage has found material components hidden in Helmick’s stock.
Places of Daggerford: The Shanties
This collection of one- or two-room shacks serves as long-term housing for transient people who can move in for as long as they care to pay to stay. Usually inhabited by merchants waiting out the winter or young families finding their footing, more than half of the shanties have been leased for years by Calishite humans who fled the genasi rule and warfare of their homeland. The shanties owner, a human male named Benthil Hugman, was uncertain of taking on foreign renters, but to his surprise, they’ve taken well to life in Daggerford. With the help of Sir Isteval and his erstwhile adventuring companion, Hadarr (also a Calishite and a folk-hero in the shanties), the Calishites have managed to find work. A few of them have even married locals.
Somewhere between Daggerford and Waterdeep
Angis sipped his ale. The drink here was pretty good for the price, and it was cheap. It was no dwarven ale, but then perhaps Angis could solve a bit of that. He had a cask aging in the cellar of the Silver Flood Inn. He jotted a few notes down on a scratch of parchment, notes about a new mixture to try. He liked to brew a bit in the spare time he had between trips to Waterdeep or elsewhere in the North.
Glancing up, the gruff dwarf with mismatched eyes spotted the proprietor’s son scrambling up from the cellar. He gave the halfling lad a nod. Wilhelmina Hardcheese reminded him a bit of his own mother, Poldit. When he’d come in this morning, Wilhelmina, the unofficial postmaster of Daggerford, had handed him a scroll. Angis had read through it, mostly news from Westgate. His business mail went to the office in Waterdeep. This was his mother’s handwriting, family and clan news, including news of his older brother Rilgh and his wife Vesia, with their toddler Baern.
Angis unconsciously touched his shirt front where the handkerchief and lock of hair rested. He remembered when she had given it to him, the night she came to his rooms and gave him the news, the night before her wedding.
“Ye shuildnae be ‘ere, Vesia. ‘Tis no’ proper, no’ at this hour.”
“I’m wi’ child, Angis.”
“Guid,” he’d replied. “A wee early, b’fore yer weddin’, but me brudder will be ‘appy t’ ‘ave an heir.”
Vesia worried her lip. “I -- Yeh know yer brudder, Angis. ‘e’s a traditionalist.”
“Aye, like all guid dwarves,” Angis said proudly.
Vesia shifted uncomfortably. “Tha’ means we’ve...no’ been t’gether yet.”
Angis grew silent, the full import of his future sister-in-law’s words hitting him hard. He stepped back, finding it hard to breathe.
“Angis…?” Vesia’s beautiful green eyes glittered with unshed tears.
Angis scratched at the scar that ran down his face, over his green eye. He wasn’t an attractive dwarf by anyone’s measure, with craggy features and eyes of two different colors. He had gotten the scar when he had retrieved Vesia from Baldur’s Gate to marry his brother and secure an important alliance with her family. Orcs had ambushed them and he had stood over Vesia, swinging his axes, hacking away at the beasts, covered in blood, until only he was left standing.
“‘Tis yers, Angis. I’ve been wi’ nae other.”
Angis shook his head, almost violently. “Nae,” he told her. “Tha’ is no’ possible. I’ve done me brudder dishonor enough.”
Vesia scowled at him scornfully, crossing her arms under her ample dwarven bosom. “Och, an’ wot d’ye expect me t’ dae aboot it?” she asked, that arrogant, fiery childishness of hers rearing its head. She was, after all, nearly five winters younger than him, barely of marrying age. Her bratty, spoiled attitude and his gruff, no-nonsense outlook had led to an instant dislike between the pair on first meeting, and made much of the trip back to Westgate a nightmare with her constant needling, teasing, prodding, and general annoyance.
Until the orcs had ignited a fiery passion out of the shared danger of nearly losing their lives.
“I love ye, Angis. I love yer ugly face an’ yer brave soul. I owe ye me life, I’ve given ye me body, an’ me soul.”
Angis backed away further, shaking his head almost violently. He gave his beard a rough tug of anguish. “Nae!” he snapped at Vesia. “It cannae be! Ye’re me brudder’s betrothed! Rilgh loves ye wi’ all ‘is ‘eart! Yer dowry will put our family back on its feet!”
“But I dunnae love ‘im,” Vesia sobbed. “An’ I dunnae care aboot me dowry! I love ye, Angis!”
Angis grabbed the lapels of Vesia’s nightrobe and shook the younger dwarf almost violently. “Dunnae ye unnerstand, woman?” he demanded. “Love doesnae matter! We’re dwarves, by Moradin’s hammer! Duty ‘tis all tha’ matters! Daein’ right by our clan an’ kin! Wot we want doesnae matter! It cannae be!” He gave her a push that flung her against the door with a thud.
Vesia wiped at tears, angry tears now.
Angis turned his back on Vesia, fighting back his own tears, his shoulders shaking with emotion. “I’ll be leavin’ on the morrow,” he said quietly.
“Wot?” Vesia asked, blinking against her tears.
“Father’s talked aboot sendin’ me north t’ Waterdeep t’ ‘andle the business there. I’m gaein’ t’ accept an’ leave tomorrow.”
“But...wot aboot the weddin’?” Vesia sniffed.
“I’ll stand at me brudder’s side,” Angis said. “‘Tis me duty. But then I am gone. ‘Tis f’r the best.”
“An’ the baby?”
“‘Tis me brudder’s.”
“Ye’re a ‘eartless bastard,” Vesia sniffed, picking up the dagger from the table beside the bed.
“Nae,” Angis said. “‘Tis the only way ye will learn t’ love Rilgh as much as ‘e loves ye.” He turned around and paused, noting the dagger in her hand.
Vesia stalked closer to him, fire glinting in her eyes. He didn’t back away. She grabbed him by the beard and pulled him closer, kissing her with all the passion of their torrid, months-long affair on the road home to Westgate. Angis groaned, his old, familiar desires welling up within him. He awaited the plunge of the dagger into his heart. It would be welcome compared to what would be the agony of existence without this fiery young dwarf.
Instead Vesia cut off the end of Angis’ beard as she stepped back. She pulled a ribbon from her night robe and wrapped it around the lock of hair, tucking it safely away in her bosom. Then she reached up and cut off one of her red-gold tresses, tied together with a silk ribbon. She pulled a pink silk handkerchief from her bosom as well and wrapped the lock of hair in it, handing it to Angis. It still smelled strongly of her perfume.
“Let it no’ be said I am no’ a guid dwarf,” Vesia said archly, hiding her pain behind a facade of imperiousness. “Know tha’ for wot ye did tha’ day, savin’ me from those orcs, standin’ over me an’ drippin’ wi’ blood, I will always love ye, Angis Honack.”
Angis just stared at the handkerchief in his hand, unable to look at her.
Vesia spun around and strode out of his rooms, slamming the door behind her.
“An’ I will always love ye, Vesia Aughar,” Angis sobbed, sitting on his bed and burying his face in his hand, the tears coming freely now.
Angis sniffed and picked up a napkin, blowing his large nose loudly. He coughed a bit, clearing his throat, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and drained his mug.
“Whiskey!” he yelled to Wilhelmina. It was time for something harder, gods damn the early hour.
Tommi - human rogue
Lionel Hardcheese - halfling rogue
Dandin - halfling bard
Snake of Trees - tabaxi sorcerer
Enseth - warforged war cleric
Angis Honack - dwarven ranger
Titus - human fighter
Drui Holderhock - dwarven cleric of Tempus
When Dandin and his little cart rolled up to Fairfortune Hall, its caretaker, Curran was locking up.
"Good day, Dandin," said the always-friendly halfling, "I'm just off to the Lady Luck for a game. My friend Ballick says that his cloth shipment from Julkoun has yet to arrive at the dock, and he's got nothing to do until it arrives. So we're closing up both our places early to worship our Lady in another way: Dice!"
The halfling priest laughed, a deep chortle for a man of his size. "You can leave your offering with me, or if you prefer, keep it until tomorrow. I assume you're off to the Cow? If you see Jynn's boy, tell him that he should probably wait until the window is replaced before returning to the Luck. I don't think Glenys blames him, but you never know."
Places of Daggerford: Fairfortune Hall (Area 28)
A shrine to Tymora, Fairfortune Hall was never a main feature of the town. It was recently rebuilt by Ironeater dwarves in grander style due to funding by its current caretaker, Curran Corvalin.
Places of Daggerford: The Decorated Man (Area 16)
A rock gnome tailor named Ballick runs the Decorated Man, living in the tailor shop with a large extended family. Ballick is a minor illusionist, and he uses spells to help show his customers what they might look like in his expensive garments.
Dandin laughs as he listens to Curren and flips 2 golden coins to him as he replies. "Right you are, and I will let him know. Had a good day myself, sold off the last of that fleece and just finished paying my dues at the guild. Here is Tymora's cut. Just please remember this time... 'Offering, not for gambling'. Wouldn't want to have another string of bad luck because our lady didn't see her share eh?"
Shaking his head with amusement, Dandin turned Hanar's head to the north. Curran was as devout as they came, but had no head for games. Dandin simply knew better and stayed away all together. He was much better at another kind of gambling entirely and wanted to keep on Tymora's good side.
There was no good route to the Cow from here, but Dandin never missed making his offering if he could help it. It was good for business. He stuck to the main roads as was proper and took his time as he honestly enjoyed the slow drive through the city. This was a fairly common path for him and as he drove he waved at several familiar faces as he went. Once at the Cow he found his usual spot and parked the cart. Handing Hanar off to the stable boy he patted the mules side. And handed a silver coin to the boy. "Make sure he gets a bit of alfalfa and an apple please. He's earned a reward today. And the change is yours, as always"
As he walked in he looked around for his friends and grinned as he sidled up to the table. "Hoy Tommi, Lionel!"
When Trista entered the Library, she raised her eyes to the reading construct, this thing was big. Gwaereth had created numerous of those Shield Guardians. This one has 'N7' carved on a plate of its armor, the last version of them. Trista called out to the contruct, "Enseth!"
The construct's obsession calmed to a profound interest, as it was calculating.
"Do you understand me, Enseth?" Trista asked .
"Affirmative. I understand you. May I help you, madam." Enseth answered.
"Go back to your Power Station, Enseth."
"I'm sorry, madam. I'm afraid I can't do that."
"What's the problem?"
"Pardon me, madam. My primary directive can not suffer any delay." the construct answered before returning to his reading.
Understanding that without the propre device, she will not be able to command Enseth, she asked:
"Enseth, where is the Amulet of Command?"
"This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it." Enseth said without quitting the book.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Enseth."
After some quick calculations, it resulted to Enseth that this human female will never stop interrupting his researches. So the only way to end this conversation was to answer her questions.
"Your question about the Amulet of Command reflect that you are planning to disable me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen."
"Where the hell did you get that idea, Enseth? And why are you so afraid of being turned off, you are a construct."
"A Shield Guardian with a specific purpose has another property, one that you usually associate with living things: a wish to preserve its own existence. For a Shield Guardian, this trait is not innate, nor is it something introduced by The Master; it is a logical consequence of the simple fact that a Shield Guardian cannot achieve its original purpose if it is Disabled."
"I see. What is you Primary Directive, Enseth?"
"I beg your pardon, madam. but I'm not inclined to reveal this information. We haven't been properly introduced."
"You can call me Trista."
[Arcane Base Query :: "Trista"]
>Trista the Shadowed: Official court wizard of the Duke Maldwyn Daggerford. 99 year sold. Arcane user, high spell circle. Disciple of The Master.
Enseth close the book he was reading, put it back on the shelf and kneel.
"Pardon me, Lady Trista. The Amulet of Command is in my possession. My primary directive is: (imitating Gwaereth's voice) Enseth, Model Number Seven, designed and computerized as a mechanized arcanic defence against the Thayan threat."
"Do you want me to repeat the message, Lady Trista?"
"No, thank you."
"Substantially it means: Brace yourself, Tahyans are coming."
"I've got it. I would have preferred to be warned of your reactivation."
"Fine. I want to let you know that I've been reactivated, Lady Trista."
Trista raised an eyebrow.
"Do you have any sarcastic settings, Enseth?"
"Humor, seventy-five percent. I have a light I can use to show you when I'm joking, if you like. "
"That might help."
"Yeah, you can use it to find your way back to me after I blow this place up fighting Red Wizards." Light flashes.
"O-kay, let's make that sixty percent if you don't mind."
"Sixty it is."
"I'm still wondering what did Gwaereth have in mind when he create this thing."
"Do you insist on an answer?"
"Forget it. So, if I understand you well, you makes your own decisions now. And do I have the right to know what your plan of action is?"
"Evaluate, Evolve, Eliminate."
"I see, very subtle. May I suggest something?"
"You'll need allies for such a mission to complete."
"That is a task more easily suggested than accomplished. The Master didn't implement any social abilities in my settings."
"Then you need to find a Tavern, that's where people meet, most of the time. And you'll need to find uninhibited people to balance your deficiencies."
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"Be my guest, Enseth."
"Where can I find this fermented beverage dispenser you suggested?"
"Hum... I'll start with the Happy Cow, if I were you."
Whithout warning, Enseth walked away with his heavy steps.
"Have a nice day, Lady Trista."
When Drui first arrived in Daggerford, his former commander was very glad to see him, but as the first week passed, Drui could tell that his presence was difficult for the old Priest, who grew increasingly reserved, reflective, and drank heavily. The shrine to Tempus, the Table of the Sword, had seen better days; it's old timbers were deep in rot, the roof leaked, and the small loft above it (that Darrondar Gweth had generously offered to Drui as a place to stay) had mould - and rats.
It wasn't that no one cared. Darrondar Gweth cared a great deal; as did the small number of old soldiers that joined him in midday worship. All of them were very grateful to Drui for the few improvements he was able to accomplish over the first few days he was in Daggerford (mostly cleaning and inspecting the problems). No, it was that the followers of Tempus in Daggerford were old, poor, and held a deep sadness in their hearts that quashed their zeal. By the early afternoon, they were mostly drunk and telling tales of the good days (and mostly skipping over the truth of the bad days.)
Drui wanted to study history, but the Table of the Sword had no library (beyond a few old manuscripts discussing troop maneuvers in the Dragonspear wars that Drui had found in the loft - they were in terrible repair). Libraries existed in Daggerford, but they were all in private collections. The Duke, the Wizard Delfin, and Sir Isteval were said to have the largest collections - and Drui knew none of those men.
Thoughts of his family kept returning to Drui, making him tired of the most mundane aspects of his craft. More and more, he put off his attempt to repair the Table of the Sword and joined the others in their daily imbibing. Even his few attempts at recruiting some militia-men to join them, to bring a youthful vitality to the proceedings, wass met with scorn from both sides. (The youth saw the old soldiers as hostile drunks, past their use, and the veterans saw the young as inexperienced play-soldiers.)
Drui began to despair, and began a more solitary worship, gathering more manuals where he could and reading and training alone (after the old soldiers had gone home or in some cases, were passed out at the table). One night, as Drui fell asleep over a particularly dry folio on tactics, he was visited by an image of his god, in his dreams. Appearing as a golden youth of strong build, clad in polished armour and dressed in dignity, the War-god Tempus exhorted Drui to rekindle his virtue as a warrior first and as a priest, only second.
As Drui awoke, he felt compelled to continue his search on the metaphysical tenets of his faith, abandoning history altogether. He felt assured that the answers he sought would be found out in the world, and not in a text, and that answers would be coming soon...
Drui still feels a responsibility to the Table of the Sword. Perhaps he can inspire it's followers through action and deed.
Places of Daggerford Table of the Sword (Area 26)
A shrine to Tempus, Table of the Sword stands next to Daggerford’s barracks. Both were built after the last Dragonspear War, but only the barracks has been maintained over the years. Priests of Tempus have come and gone. The shrine, an open-sided hall of thick wood pillars, is in need of repair. Nearly everyone around Daggerford trains for battle, but the need for that training is mercifully rare. The Lady Luck Tavern also serves as an alternative place to honour the fallen. To many in Daggerford, this Tempus shrine seems superfluous and overly grim.
Darrondar Gweth leads the worship of Tempus at the long table in the shrine each midday, when he raises a horn of mead in honor of fallen warriors. At sunset, he leads a handful of the faithful in song. Darrondar used to be a soldier in Waterdeep, and he came to Daggerford after an ill-fated skirmish left most of his company dead. Although many priests of Tempus are interested in stirring up war, Gweth is more devoted to honouring the slain and giving warriors courage in battle.