Bravec, Dorin, and Kane (cont.)
Dorin pulls out a small journal and copies the crude scripts. "Ah-ha!" Several seconds pass before Dorin shares his revaluation. "Does anyone know a Snerk, because apparently he smells like beetle dung." he says straight faced. "At least that's what this scribble hear seems to say. As for the other, I am unsure. No doubt something just as lude and childish."
"I don't think so," Vilmar replies.
"It's definitely not a name of anyone I've ever employed."
Kane smiles, and whispers to Vilmar, "Please forgive my appearance, good sir. There are times when discreet subtlety is more appropriate than blatant straight-forwardness. This is one of those times. I didn't want to attract attention to my mission, thus, I am in disguise. I hope that our next meeting will allow me to correct your misconception of me, and make a better impression," he concludes, with a laugh and a wink.
Vilmar seems concerned by Kane's need for discretion.
"A mission! You make it sound like the sky is falling," Vilmar replies.
"Is there trouble brewing in the city? Is that why you're here? Did some vile force do this," Vilmar shakes his head in confusion.
"Why would evil forces be interested in me. I just make sails for local fishers working Crater Lake. Sure, I've designed a few more exotic sails but that was years ago. My hands get too sore now for me to do intricate work. Plus, the clients were a pain to deal with... always wanting updates. No, I just make simple sails now." He pauses and looks towards the nearby fishers before he speaks to Kane again quietly.
"Of course, I'll help in any way I can. Cauldron is my home and I'd hate for the city to go through more troubles. People are just starting to get back to the way things were before the old disasters..." He trails off before looking at Kane with fear.
"Nothing like that is going to happen is it? T-the Cagew-wrights aren't back are t-they?" The sail-maker begins to pace back and forth along the dock.
"T-they can't come back," Vilmar exclaims.
"We l-lost so much l-last time!"
Several of the fishers look towards him with concern.
Bravec blinks in surprise. "So some sort of goblinoid has been in here writing insults in the entrails of Helthorn beetles?" His expression clearly details his consternation.
"Assuming it's goblinoid." He says as he copies the rest of the scrawlings in his journal. "Perhaps I could get these translated, or perhaps with a bit of research I could find out more about this places history. Maybe Snerk is a code name for someone in town and they sell Hellthorn beetle entrails as a strange delicacy. Oh man I remember the first time I smelled that beetle. Really kicks you in the face don't it?"
"Eh, what? Goblins! Goblins made this mess," Vilmar looks at his shed with disgust.
"A-are you sure? If so, I'll have to burn everything," he sighs.
"Even if I tried to clean and fix it all, no one is going to buy it if goblins pissed everywhere!"
Several of the fishers move closer to eavesdrop. They're not very subtle about it and they begin whispering amongst themselves.
"You say there is more of this scrawl under the dock?" he asks the sail-maker. "Perhaps we should see if the writing is more profound than comments on this 'Snerk's' hygiene? If we might impose on your skill as a translator once more good Dorin?"
Dorin is silent for a moment, then opens his mouth as if to speak but then closes it again. He does this several times before finally saying, "What were we about to do again?"
"No, no. No scrawls. Just nasty mucks," Vilmar replies.
"I'm glad those gobbers didn't feel like pooping in my shed too. Gods! Goblins! We have to tell the guards. We can't have goblins running around the city!"
One of the fishers gasps when he hears the word 'goblins'. He pulls in his lure frantically and rushes away from the dock and out onto Broken Glass Way. He is quite distraught and rushes away mumbling, "Goblins, goblins, goblins, goblins..." Onlookers look at him like he's crazy.
Vilmar pulls Bravec towards a wooden ladder than descends down to the water's edge. He leads the city druid under the dock and back towards his shop. Bravec quickly smells the messy 'mucks' before he even sees them. The feces are mixed with half-eaten fish and rotting fruits.
"Awful, ins't it," Vilmar says while holding his nose.
"I thought that years of living near sailors and fish has made me immune to the worst stinks in the world, but this, this is just terrible." Vilmar sneezes once then retches and backs away from the mucks, which are spread out and watery. The scene is ghastly and gross. Who- or whatever left the feces ate something very smelly before dropping trousers under the dock and shop. The smell seems to, inexplicably, hang 'heavy' near the ground and some of the mucks have been pulled and pecked at by several seagulls that now lie dead in the befouled sand and rock.
OOC: Anyone who goes under the dock has to make a Fortitude save (DC 13) or be nauseated for 1 minute plus 1 minute for every 5 points the save is failed by.
