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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dirigible" data-source="post: 1233434" data-attributes="member: 12631">All:The corridor beyond the front door is only 5' high, so even Tyra Thornwood has to duck her head to fit within, and Dark's lank, wet hair leaves a greasy smear on the curved ceiling as he shuffles along.The gobberish guard steps into an alcove, leaning back against thewall and flipping a coin idly as the two Ryns drag the bruised, unconscious scout in after them. He doesn't look particularly alarmed at this; Tyra wonders what sort of establishment this is, where a clearly bloodied man elicits no comment. Dark, on the other hand, wonders why the walls are covered by billions of wasps, with their horrid, horrid stingers. Eyvind is perhaps dreaming happily of the buxom, big-boned women of home."AFTER yer friend's back oniz feet? Heh. You're a braver gobber than I, Thrillgrog..." Snee gives a high-pitched giggle. "Last man ta keep Boss Zog waiting... well, let's just say he's hanging around."Kneecap leads the way through the winding corridor, clearly familiar. It's dimly lit, to suit gobber eyes, with torches ensconsed every sixty feet or more, and only about half of them lit. Small, round doors are set at a slight angle in the walls here and there, looking like the entrances to storm cellars. Luckly, the floor is even and the ceiling constant in height, or the two Ryns would be badly concused by the time the passage opens out.Her narrow boots crunching on the dry reeds used to soak up the inevitable condensation from the mist and seepage from the river, Tyra stops suddenly, nearly dropping Eyvind's legs. Ahead of her, a short set of steps leads down to what must have been a factory floor, the sort you see in fabric mills. Long stripped of any machines or workbenches, the ceiling here is much more comfortable for humans, vaulted far overhead, and the room itself is large enough.It seems you've walked into a gobber bazaar.A crowd throngs around amidst stalls, tents, stands and rugs piled with goods of all sorts. Spice merchants rub tiny grey shoulders with weaponsmiths, gobbers hawking copper bowls squabble for space with clothiers measuring customers for their odd, colour-shifting ponchos, along with the more mundane kind. The whole palces has a cramped, precarious feeling; stacks of goods wobble dangerously, and in some places stallholders have built their stands on top of each other, using crude ramps to let customers through. Coloured lanters cast eerie, shifting glows over the scene, as gobbers, and the odd boggrin weave around each other, voices raised in curses and sales pitches mingling together."Getchoorluverly hats! Lots of hats fer sale!""Cor, check out the jubblies on that one, Bligdeblog.""How much for the pen holder?""I have finest ponchos, right here!""Hats! Hats! Hats fer sale!""Skrigg pies... just like muvva used to make! So fresh you can taste them BOOM in yer mouf!""Three of the fresh ones, please.""Come, come, see my spoons!""Big hats, small hats, hats wiv bobbles, hats wiv woggles!""Yeah, nice enough, I spose... but they're pink, Bugasog. Euch!""HOW much!"One stall seems to be seeing less buisness than the others. It stands near the middle of the crowd, but the floor around it is clear, as if the crowd is subconsciously avoiding it. It is piled with a massive variety of gear, from knives and swords to string to cups to staves, odds and ends of jewlery to wooden clogs; some of it even looks magical (not the clogs, though). It also has a certain air of ill-gottenness about it.Sitting peacefully in the middle of this bizzare assortment is a weird looking gobber (and that's saying something). He's quite elderly, with wrinkled skin, and wears a black coat sewn with tokens and feathers and twigs and scraps of cloth, making him look like a living rag pile. Here and there prescious metal or gems twinkle in the mix, though. Unusually, he has hair, a magnificent snow-white mohawk, streaked purple, and a wispy white beard. He taps a long, slender stemmed pipe against his lips as if deep in thought, and his eyes glint brightly at you across the room.If you need any gear and don't mind dealing with gobbers, this might be a good place to do some shopping. Oh, and watch your purses.There are several ways out of here; a large archway that leads to Boss Zog's offices and audience chamber, and several others that lead to small shops. A large, iron-bound redwood door apparently leads to the 'temple' here. It is the work of moments to carry Eyvind's prone form to the door and knock.A small, spindly female gobber answers, wearing a long greyish-white robe apparently made of sack cloth."Yesh?"Kneecap explains your friend's plight, and the little woman bobs her head, instructing you to leave the Kossite on a couch just inside the antechamber."It ish not allowed for you to shtay here!" She squeaks. "Bruntor will shee to him!" With that, she hurridly ushers you out, shooing all the while.(OOC: Kneecap recognizes the odd gobber; he goes by the very un-gobberish name of Richmond, and has a reputation as a fence par excellence, a magician and a dangerous man. It's said if he doesn't have what you want, he can find it, though his price is usually higher than you think, and rarely accounted in mere gold.)edit: HA! how's that for an update!</blockquote>

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