Turn 26: Grimbo.
Tetknee proves to be a disappointment, sure they get a couple of days bed rest but how much more is there to do in a one-horse village, with one pub, and a church devoted to some ‘Green Man’ Oerth Father/Mother, have you seen the size of my marrow, type deity, and little else. They adventurers have already received their reward, and the fact that an encampment of Abominations had settled on the doorstep of the small village is kept a secret.
The Goodman Gang soon grow tired of Tetknee and hop a cart into the bright lights and big city of Grimbo.
Grimbo, for the uninitiated is, well for the uninitiated it’s a death trap, with a smiling gap-toothed face and breath that stinks of fish stew, sick and booze. Obviously it has its chattering classes, but these are vastly outnumbered by the thousands that earn their daily wage in some sort, actually any sort, of nefarious, illegal, illicit, or just plain shameful trade.
On the North-East coast of the United Kingdoms Grimbo sits, or rather squats, home to nearly seven thousand lost souls, a fishing port, yeah right… like the only thing that arrives on boats are fish. Grimbo is a smuggler’s port, a fence’s port, a drunkard’s port, a pirate’s port, a fornicator’s port, a… and all the rest. It is in short the home to a very extreme, sometimes blunt, sometimes pointy, form of capitalism. You want it- I got it- you pay, or, I want it- you got it- you die; that kind of thing.
You can buy anything with gold here, including an early grave.
And so look out Grimbo, here come the Goodman Gang.
“Passport?” The gate guard wanders over to Cas, “Passport?”
“What?”
“Passport? Have you got your Passport?”
Cas shrugs turns to Ala, and the others.
“I’m sorry.”
“You not got your Passport?” The gate guard leers.
“I don’t seem to…” Cas starts.
“What Passport?” Anya enquires.
“Y’needs a Passport these days- Council orders, every citizen, tell who’s bad from good- see.” The guard gets out a stub of a pencil and fragment of parchment, stares at the assembled adventurers.
“Well?”
“We don’t seem to have any Passports?”
“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEwwwwwwwwwwwwww.” The gate guard sucks in air.
“Is there anything you can do?” Cas enquires.
Fifteen minutes later they’re at the head of the queue.
A different gate guard stands before them, although he looks familiar.
“Gate Tax, five silver each.”
He takes the proffered money, and shoves them on.
They’ve gone twenty or so feet when Cas comes to a dead halt, he turns back.
“I say, don’t you want to see our Passports?”
“What?”
“Our Passports, we paid three gold coins each for them, actually we pick them up from the Passport Office tomorrow morning, I’m to tell you this… I’ve got it all written down.”
Cas fumbles for his piece of paper.
The guard wanders over.
“Give me that.” He grabs the paper from Cas’ hand.
Then laughs- straight from the belly.
“What’d he look like, the guy that sold you these Passports?”
The others, now interested, wander over.
“Actually, he looked a lot like you.”
The guard laughs again.
“Well you don’t need no Passport, me Lord, you’ve been had.”
“What?”
“Duped. Now get back in there before I make you pay again.” The gate guard points into the city.
“You can’t… hang on you know who this man is don’t you?” Cas states.
“So…”
“So I want you to arrest him.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Oh I do”, Cas looks for a rank on the gate guard- finds none, “soldier, I want him arrested now.”
“I don’t think you do- for two reasons.
One- you said he looks like me, well he would do- he’s my brother.
Two- he’s also my boss, in fact he’s the head of the whole bloody watch.
Now are you going to go in or…”
The Paladin and the others quick foot it into the city.
“Well you showed him there.” Jim offers.
Grimbo is also home to the second largest Church of Pelor in the whole of Lincornshire, the largest Church of Pelor, actually a Cathedral, is in Lincorn itself.
Cas soon finds his way to the Church, and with Ala in tow- the two are staying together, sharing a room if you will, at the Wellow Inn, the Innkeeper Malchor makes them feel at home- Mr. & Mrs. Smith indeed, in Gleethorpe, or as it’s known to the locals, Meggies. Gleethorpe is an addendum to Grimbo, a small village that has grown up just outside of the sprawl of Grimbo- a home to the thinkers and dreamers, it even has a shoddy little beach- complete with fun fair, market- mostly costly tat and vegetables, and donkey-rides up and down the sands, about 400 yards in total for a gold-a-go.
Anyway, the Church of Pelor, St. Jimbo’s, is overseen by Father Whiskin, a friendly old Dwarf. Cas has a story to tell, so he tells it, Ala adds details of their second adventure- Father Whiskin doesn’t doubt their tale for a second, “Chaos and Evil is on the up-and-up”, is how he puts it, “you only have to go out at night to see that.”
“So is there anything we can do?” Cas finishes.
“Not really.” Is the short answer, Father Whiskin will however stay in touch.
They conclude their business at the Church, Cas donates half his earnings to date- so much for the Full Plate then, and the pair head back into the city to see the sights.
Father Whiskin, for his part, has also agreed to straighten things out at the Seminary in Lincorn, the one that Cas did a bunk from to be with Ala, and Ogre-shaped danger, or so it seems.
It is also agreed that Cas will complete his training at the Church, for which he pays a further sum of money, and that the Church will supply discounted Potions of Healing, should Cas, or Ala for that matter, need them on any further adventures.
Anya and Newt take a detour, once they’ve established themselves; they’re staying at the Wheatsheaf Inn, on Bargate, in Grimbo itself, although it’s in the nicer part of city. The pair enrol on short courses in basic alchemy, they also get access to the labs at Grimbo College, or GC for short, situated in an old Nunnery just a little way up the road from their Inn.
Once there Anya also gains access to the Department of Magic’s, run by Nudge Toombs, a balding Gnome of very senior years, her Mage training will be completed here, all for a price of course.
Newt has to look slightly further afield, actually across the road, to Nunsthorpe, an area within Grimbo known for its violence, thievery and rough justice- the Nunny, as its known, is also home to the largest and best organised Thieves Guild in Grimbo, known as- The Nunny, funnily enough, whose members are called Munties, or Townies, or, very simply, Chavs- the latter usually applied to the better dressed, and infinitely more violent, members of the organisation. Newt soon finds a friend.
“Yer not frum arownd ear, r u boy?”
“Firstly, I’m not a boy, I’m a Gnome, secondly- no, I’m not from around here, which is obvious to anyone with the slightest bit of intelligence, for I am not a bandy legged, gap-toothed goon with a penchant for misery and murder.”
Time passes, then the Townie, gets it- he’s been insulted.
“Hey… yew wanna watch wha yer sayin, else yule see my blayd.”
“Really… I’ll raise your blade for my Bec.”
“Sandwich.” Bec hoves into view, catches the Townie in one great hand, and picks him up, shakes him a little.
“Now put him down please Bec. Sorry about that, now… The Nunny, where can I find them?”
“You’ve found them.”
Several hours later Newt is buying everybody drinks in a basement bar in a deserted looking house in Nunsthorpe, Bec has gone to find Jim, he’s served his purpose- money talks it seems.
By the end of the evening deals have been done and Newt is enrolled on another course- Thievery 102. He’s also paid his guild dues for the next year, or thereabouts- he’s in good books. He also gains access to other resources, not the least of which is information, although also included are friendly fences, moneychangers, reduced rate potion vendors and other services.
Bec meets Wally, Wally runs a pub in Meggies called, “The Swashbuckle”, which is a spit and sawdust style establishment. Wally is also a retired adventurer, a Barbarian to boot; Bec takes employment, briefly, at the place- it serves as payment for his Barbarian training, which consists of lots of nothing with brief bursts of extreme violence.
“So ya wanna be a Barbarian?” Wally asks.
Bec nods.
“You’d have to be a… thingy… you know… short of a picnic to do that.”
“Sandwich.” Bec states.
“That’s it- you’re in.” Wally finishes.
Meet up early on in their stay in Grimbo and head out of the city, only a few miles, to the village of Great Coats, a small Elven contingent lingers there, which includes a Chapel devoted to Correllan, led by Matriach Parkerts. Great Coats is also home to a unit of mixed race Rangers which train in Weelsby and Bradley Woods, a specialised unit of the Lincorn Militia, simply known as “The Backwoodsmen.” Needless to say the two sort out their training.
Time passes much more slowly, the players establish themselves in their various residences, complete training, do a lot of buying and selling; they catch up with each other every now and then.
One such night finds them in the restaurant of the Wellow Inn, named after the ancient, well… Well, a little away from the Inn- which dates back to the original founding of the village of Gleethorpe, before it was surrounded by the sprawl of Grimbo.
The food is good, way better than anything Newt, Bec and Jim have ever tasted, they’re all on best behaviour. Malchor, the Innkeeper, stands in the background, proud of his table.
“So I asked you to join us tonight”, Cas makes eyes at Ala, who blushes a little, “because it seems we may have another job here.”
“What’s it about?” Newt asks, trying to poke his little finger out while he totes his spoon, slurps soup.
“Well, ah hah hah… that’s a joke.” Cas smiles, Ala forces a grin.
“Whaff?” Jim asks mouth stuffed with bread.
“You mean the robberies.” Anya states.
“Yes?” Cas replies.
“I’ve heard the story, there’s supposed to be something down the Well not so far from here, something that emerges at night, or at least some nights, to steal and kill.” Anya concludes and finishes her soup, “a little too salty, but not bad.”
Cas nods.
And then a vision of loveliness floats towards their table, Lady Arabella, twenty years of age, and a stunning beauty, if a little dim.
“Arabella.” Cas rises, bows and mid-way is embraced- warmly.
Ala stares daggers.
The table rearranges itself, Jim tries desperately to straighten his shirt, it’s not been ironed. Newt grins. Bec eats on- fairly oblivious, grabs at and takes Cas’ bread roll, and gulps it down in one mouthful. Anya watches Bec but pays no heed. A seventh chair is brought up by the waiting staff and Lady Arabella is made comfortable next to Cas.
She rests her hand on the Paladin’s thigh.
“Well this is a treat.” She begins.
“Cazzy- who are all these, lovely, people?”
“I’m Newt my Lady.” Newt kisses the proffered hand.
“Oh lovely, are you a Dwarf?” She giggles.
“A Gnome.” Newt thumps down into his chair, swigs from his wine.
“Oh how lovely.” She turns to Cas, “They’re pretty much the same thing aren’t they Cazzy?”
Cas looks elsewhere.
“I’m J… J… J… Ji… Ji… Ji…JiJiJiJiJIM.” Jim spits, “Me La… La…LAYdee.”
Jim sits back down, catching the edge of the table cloth and tipping the remains of his soup into his lap.
“Oh quickly.” Arabella grabs a cloth and dabs the spill- Jim alternatively grins and grimaces- thirty seconds later he’s relaxed and smoking a cigarette.
“And you’re a what?” Arabella asks.
“I’m a human.” Jim states, confident, almost certain.
“No silly- what are you; I’d guess you’re a wizard?”
“No, I’m a woodsman, a Ranger lady, I don’t mean a Ranger lady, I mean I’m a Ranger, lady. I’m a man. Not a lady. And a Ranger lady. I mean…”
“Oh.” Arabella shakes then sniffs her hand, her smile slipping, settles for wiping her hand on a cloth.
“That’s nice. And you- you’re an Elf aren’t you, I can tell, do you know how I know?” Arabella turns to Ala.
“No, I can’t wait- I’m all ears.” Ala monotones back.
“It’s your ears silly.” Arabella reaches out to grab one of Ala’s ears- to give it a playful tug.
SLAP
Ala has other thoughts, slaps Arabella’s hand away.
“Sorry. I was trying to get the salt.” Ala grins.
Lady Arabella cradles her reddening hand, shakes it- lifeless.
“Cassy.” She grabs for the Paladin, hooks one arm around his shoulders, the other dangles before the Paladin’s face.
“Kissy Wissy Cassy Wassy.”
The Paladin puckers up, staring hard at Ala, kisses the proffered hand.
“That’s better. And what are you- oh I do like your jewellery, very… ethnic.”
Arabella is staring at Ala’s silver-moon holy symbol of Correllon.
“I’m a Priestess of Correllon, the Keeper and Maker of the Elves, the Divine Storyteller, the…” But she gets no further.
“Oh that’s lovely, simply lovely… How nice, and you?” Arabella stares at Bec.
Who seems to see her for the first time, he’s on his fifth bread roll.
Bec looks non-plussed at the proffered hand.
“Can I have Sandwich?”
Bec delicately splits a roll and encloses Arabella’s hand in the now buttered halves- grabs and brings the newly created sandwich towards his mouth.
Arabella shrieks a little and withdraws her buttered hand smartly from the bun.
Bec bites down, chews, oblivious- mouth open, he tries to smile and masticate- it doesn’t look good.
“My word.” Arabella wipes her hand.
“Er that’s Bec, he’s the muscle.”
“And what muscle.” Arabella smooths a hand up and down Bec’s forearm.
Bec grins and chews on.
“And I’m Anya Lady Arabella, the Wizard, we’re all so very pleased to meet you. Now, and I’m guessing here- so help me out if you can, I’m guessing it’s you that wants us to head down the well.”
Arabella looks shocked.
“My word- you are a brainy one aren’t you. Still you can’t have everything, that’s what my dear father used to say.”
It goes silent for a while.
“Go on, the job?” Anya sighs.
“Oh yes. Well since I’m now the Council member for Gleethorpe…”
Several members of the Goodman Gang swallow hard.
“You’re a Council member?” Anya asks.
“Oh yes, ever since Daddy died- he was very popular. Anyway there have been some terrible happenings around the area, near the Inn, and I was thinking that something should be done about it- so I went to the Council to see whose responsibility it is… And you’ll never guess what they said?”
“Yours.” Anya states.
“Oh, Pelor be blessed, you have got a lot of brains. Yes, that’s right- so I thought what should I do, and for a while I couldn’t think of anything… and then, well”, Lady Arabella stares up at Cas, flutters her eyelashes, and heaves her ample bosom, “then I saw Cassy.”
“Good old Cassy.” Ala cheers.
“Well yes, and I thought he’d know what to do.”
Cas smiles, awkwardly, as Lady Arabella rubs herself against him, oblivious to the looks of other members of the party.
“May I be excused?” Ala doesn’t wait for an answer, and is gone, Cas pleading with his eyes, but too late.
“And so”, Cas straightens, levering Lady Arabella away a little, “and so it’s up to us to head below and try to find the source of this violence… Excuse me.”
Cas gets up and swiftly follows Ala from the restaurant, and to their room, he’s late for a argument.
“Oh.” Lady Arabella looks a little forlorn.
“We’ll do it.” Newt offers his hand, Arabella shakes it slightly unsure, still looking around for Cassy.
Newt moves Arabella round so that she has Bec to lean on, the Gnome places her hand on Bec’s thigh; think corded muscle, deeply tanned, and as hard as a rock.
Bec chews on, oblivious.
“Now let’s talk money.” Newt enquires.
Some time later a fee is agreed, a thousand gold coins will be paid for the end of the terror, Newt concludes the deal.
Malchor, the Innkeeper, waves them goodnight, they’re the last of the late drinkers in the bar, sighs and sets to cleaning up the mess they’ve left behind, and no tip.
Next Turn: Who’s who?
Tetknee proves to be a disappointment, sure they get a couple of days bed rest but how much more is there to do in a one-horse village, with one pub, and a church devoted to some ‘Green Man’ Oerth Father/Mother, have you seen the size of my marrow, type deity, and little else. They adventurers have already received their reward, and the fact that an encampment of Abominations had settled on the doorstep of the small village is kept a secret.
The Goodman Gang soon grow tired of Tetknee and hop a cart into the bright lights and big city of Grimbo.
Grimbo, for the uninitiated is, well for the uninitiated it’s a death trap, with a smiling gap-toothed face and breath that stinks of fish stew, sick and booze. Obviously it has its chattering classes, but these are vastly outnumbered by the thousands that earn their daily wage in some sort, actually any sort, of nefarious, illegal, illicit, or just plain shameful trade.
On the North-East coast of the United Kingdoms Grimbo sits, or rather squats, home to nearly seven thousand lost souls, a fishing port, yeah right… like the only thing that arrives on boats are fish. Grimbo is a smuggler’s port, a fence’s port, a drunkard’s port, a pirate’s port, a fornicator’s port, a… and all the rest. It is in short the home to a very extreme, sometimes blunt, sometimes pointy, form of capitalism. You want it- I got it- you pay, or, I want it- you got it- you die; that kind of thing.
You can buy anything with gold here, including an early grave.
And so look out Grimbo, here come the Goodman Gang.
“Passport?” The gate guard wanders over to Cas, “Passport?”
“What?”
“Passport? Have you got your Passport?”
Cas shrugs turns to Ala, and the others.
“I’m sorry.”
“You not got your Passport?” The gate guard leers.
“I don’t seem to…” Cas starts.
“What Passport?” Anya enquires.
“Y’needs a Passport these days- Council orders, every citizen, tell who’s bad from good- see.” The guard gets out a stub of a pencil and fragment of parchment, stares at the assembled adventurers.
“Well?”
“We don’t seem to have any Passports?”
“WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEwwwwwwwwwwwwww.” The gate guard sucks in air.
“Is there anything you can do?” Cas enquires.
Fifteen minutes later they’re at the head of the queue.
A different gate guard stands before them, although he looks familiar.
“Gate Tax, five silver each.”
He takes the proffered money, and shoves them on.
They’ve gone twenty or so feet when Cas comes to a dead halt, he turns back.
“I say, don’t you want to see our Passports?”
“What?”
“Our Passports, we paid three gold coins each for them, actually we pick them up from the Passport Office tomorrow morning, I’m to tell you this… I’ve got it all written down.”
Cas fumbles for his piece of paper.
The guard wanders over.
“Give me that.” He grabs the paper from Cas’ hand.
Then laughs- straight from the belly.
“What’d he look like, the guy that sold you these Passports?”
The others, now interested, wander over.
“Actually, he looked a lot like you.”
The guard laughs again.
“Well you don’t need no Passport, me Lord, you’ve been had.”
“What?”
“Duped. Now get back in there before I make you pay again.” The gate guard points into the city.
“You can’t… hang on you know who this man is don’t you?” Cas states.
“So…”
“So I want you to arrest him.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Oh I do”, Cas looks for a rank on the gate guard- finds none, “soldier, I want him arrested now.”
“I don’t think you do- for two reasons.
One- you said he looks like me, well he would do- he’s my brother.
Two- he’s also my boss, in fact he’s the head of the whole bloody watch.
Now are you going to go in or…”
The Paladin and the others quick foot it into the city.
“Well you showed him there.” Jim offers.
Cas and Ala
Grimbo is also home to the second largest Church of Pelor in the whole of Lincornshire, the largest Church of Pelor, actually a Cathedral, is in Lincorn itself.
Cas soon finds his way to the Church, and with Ala in tow- the two are staying together, sharing a room if you will, at the Wellow Inn, the Innkeeper Malchor makes them feel at home- Mr. & Mrs. Smith indeed, in Gleethorpe, or as it’s known to the locals, Meggies. Gleethorpe is an addendum to Grimbo, a small village that has grown up just outside of the sprawl of Grimbo- a home to the thinkers and dreamers, it even has a shoddy little beach- complete with fun fair, market- mostly costly tat and vegetables, and donkey-rides up and down the sands, about 400 yards in total for a gold-a-go.
Anyway, the Church of Pelor, St. Jimbo’s, is overseen by Father Whiskin, a friendly old Dwarf. Cas has a story to tell, so he tells it, Ala adds details of their second adventure- Father Whiskin doesn’t doubt their tale for a second, “Chaos and Evil is on the up-and-up”, is how he puts it, “you only have to go out at night to see that.”
“So is there anything we can do?” Cas finishes.
“Not really.” Is the short answer, Father Whiskin will however stay in touch.
They conclude their business at the Church, Cas donates half his earnings to date- so much for the Full Plate then, and the pair head back into the city to see the sights.
Father Whiskin, for his part, has also agreed to straighten things out at the Seminary in Lincorn, the one that Cas did a bunk from to be with Ala, and Ogre-shaped danger, or so it seems.
It is also agreed that Cas will complete his training at the Church, for which he pays a further sum of money, and that the Church will supply discounted Potions of Healing, should Cas, or Ala for that matter, need them on any further adventures.
Anya & Newt
Anya and Newt take a detour, once they’ve established themselves; they’re staying at the Wheatsheaf Inn, on Bargate, in Grimbo itself, although it’s in the nicer part of city. The pair enrol on short courses in basic alchemy, they also get access to the labs at Grimbo College, or GC for short, situated in an old Nunnery just a little way up the road from their Inn.
Once there Anya also gains access to the Department of Magic’s, run by Nudge Toombs, a balding Gnome of very senior years, her Mage training will be completed here, all for a price of course.
Newt has to look slightly further afield, actually across the road, to Nunsthorpe, an area within Grimbo known for its violence, thievery and rough justice- the Nunny, as its known, is also home to the largest and best organised Thieves Guild in Grimbo, known as- The Nunny, funnily enough, whose members are called Munties, or Townies, or, very simply, Chavs- the latter usually applied to the better dressed, and infinitely more violent, members of the organisation. Newt soon finds a friend.
“Yer not frum arownd ear, r u boy?”
“Firstly, I’m not a boy, I’m a Gnome, secondly- no, I’m not from around here, which is obvious to anyone with the slightest bit of intelligence, for I am not a bandy legged, gap-toothed goon with a penchant for misery and murder.”
Time passes, then the Townie, gets it- he’s been insulted.
“Hey… yew wanna watch wha yer sayin, else yule see my blayd.”
“Really… I’ll raise your blade for my Bec.”
“Sandwich.” Bec hoves into view, catches the Townie in one great hand, and picks him up, shakes him a little.
“Now put him down please Bec. Sorry about that, now… The Nunny, where can I find them?”
“You’ve found them.”
Several hours later Newt is buying everybody drinks in a basement bar in a deserted looking house in Nunsthorpe, Bec has gone to find Jim, he’s served his purpose- money talks it seems.
By the end of the evening deals have been done and Newt is enrolled on another course- Thievery 102. He’s also paid his guild dues for the next year, or thereabouts- he’s in good books. He also gains access to other resources, not the least of which is information, although also included are friendly fences, moneychangers, reduced rate potion vendors and other services.
Bec
Bec meets Wally, Wally runs a pub in Meggies called, “The Swashbuckle”, which is a spit and sawdust style establishment. Wally is also a retired adventurer, a Barbarian to boot; Bec takes employment, briefly, at the place- it serves as payment for his Barbarian training, which consists of lots of nothing with brief bursts of extreme violence.
“So ya wanna be a Barbarian?” Wally asks.
Bec nods.
“You’d have to be a… thingy… you know… short of a picnic to do that.”
“Sandwich.” Bec states.
“That’s it- you’re in.” Wally finishes.
Jim & Ala
Meet up early on in their stay in Grimbo and head out of the city, only a few miles, to the village of Great Coats, a small Elven contingent lingers there, which includes a Chapel devoted to Correllan, led by Matriach Parkerts. Great Coats is also home to a unit of mixed race Rangers which train in Weelsby and Bradley Woods, a specialised unit of the Lincorn Militia, simply known as “The Backwoodsmen.” Needless to say the two sort out their training.
In conclusion
Time passes much more slowly, the players establish themselves in their various residences, complete training, do a lot of buying and selling; they catch up with each other every now and then.
One such night finds them in the restaurant of the Wellow Inn, named after the ancient, well… Well, a little away from the Inn- which dates back to the original founding of the village of Gleethorpe, before it was surrounded by the sprawl of Grimbo.
The food is good, way better than anything Newt, Bec and Jim have ever tasted, they’re all on best behaviour. Malchor, the Innkeeper, stands in the background, proud of his table.
“So I asked you to join us tonight”, Cas makes eyes at Ala, who blushes a little, “because it seems we may have another job here.”
“What’s it about?” Newt asks, trying to poke his little finger out while he totes his spoon, slurps soup.
“Well, ah hah hah… that’s a joke.” Cas smiles, Ala forces a grin.
“Whaff?” Jim asks mouth stuffed with bread.
“You mean the robberies.” Anya states.
“Yes?” Cas replies.
“I’ve heard the story, there’s supposed to be something down the Well not so far from here, something that emerges at night, or at least some nights, to steal and kill.” Anya concludes and finishes her soup, “a little too salty, but not bad.”
Cas nods.
And then a vision of loveliness floats towards their table, Lady Arabella, twenty years of age, and a stunning beauty, if a little dim.
“Arabella.” Cas rises, bows and mid-way is embraced- warmly.
Ala stares daggers.
The table rearranges itself, Jim tries desperately to straighten his shirt, it’s not been ironed. Newt grins. Bec eats on- fairly oblivious, grabs at and takes Cas’ bread roll, and gulps it down in one mouthful. Anya watches Bec but pays no heed. A seventh chair is brought up by the waiting staff and Lady Arabella is made comfortable next to Cas.
She rests her hand on the Paladin’s thigh.
“Well this is a treat.” She begins.
“Cazzy- who are all these, lovely, people?”
“I’m Newt my Lady.” Newt kisses the proffered hand.
“Oh lovely, are you a Dwarf?” She giggles.
“A Gnome.” Newt thumps down into his chair, swigs from his wine.
“Oh how lovely.” She turns to Cas, “They’re pretty much the same thing aren’t they Cazzy?”
Cas looks elsewhere.
“I’m J… J… J… Ji… Ji… Ji…JiJiJiJiJIM.” Jim spits, “Me La… La…LAYdee.”
Jim sits back down, catching the edge of the table cloth and tipping the remains of his soup into his lap.
“Oh quickly.” Arabella grabs a cloth and dabs the spill- Jim alternatively grins and grimaces- thirty seconds later he’s relaxed and smoking a cigarette.
“And you’re a what?” Arabella asks.
“I’m a human.” Jim states, confident, almost certain.
“No silly- what are you; I’d guess you’re a wizard?”
“No, I’m a woodsman, a Ranger lady, I don’t mean a Ranger lady, I mean I’m a Ranger, lady. I’m a man. Not a lady. And a Ranger lady. I mean…”
“Oh.” Arabella shakes then sniffs her hand, her smile slipping, settles for wiping her hand on a cloth.
“That’s nice. And you- you’re an Elf aren’t you, I can tell, do you know how I know?” Arabella turns to Ala.
“No, I can’t wait- I’m all ears.” Ala monotones back.
“It’s your ears silly.” Arabella reaches out to grab one of Ala’s ears- to give it a playful tug.
SLAP
Ala has other thoughts, slaps Arabella’s hand away.
“Sorry. I was trying to get the salt.” Ala grins.
Lady Arabella cradles her reddening hand, shakes it- lifeless.
“Cassy.” She grabs for the Paladin, hooks one arm around his shoulders, the other dangles before the Paladin’s face.
“Kissy Wissy Cassy Wassy.”
The Paladin puckers up, staring hard at Ala, kisses the proffered hand.
“That’s better. And what are you- oh I do like your jewellery, very… ethnic.”
Arabella is staring at Ala’s silver-moon holy symbol of Correllon.
“I’m a Priestess of Correllon, the Keeper and Maker of the Elves, the Divine Storyteller, the…” But she gets no further.
“Oh that’s lovely, simply lovely… How nice, and you?” Arabella stares at Bec.
Who seems to see her for the first time, he’s on his fifth bread roll.
Bec looks non-plussed at the proffered hand.
“Can I have Sandwich?”
Bec delicately splits a roll and encloses Arabella’s hand in the now buttered halves- grabs and brings the newly created sandwich towards his mouth.
Arabella shrieks a little and withdraws her buttered hand smartly from the bun.
Bec bites down, chews, oblivious- mouth open, he tries to smile and masticate- it doesn’t look good.
“My word.” Arabella wipes her hand.
“Er that’s Bec, he’s the muscle.”
“And what muscle.” Arabella smooths a hand up and down Bec’s forearm.
Bec grins and chews on.
“And I’m Anya Lady Arabella, the Wizard, we’re all so very pleased to meet you. Now, and I’m guessing here- so help me out if you can, I’m guessing it’s you that wants us to head down the well.”
Arabella looks shocked.
“My word- you are a brainy one aren’t you. Still you can’t have everything, that’s what my dear father used to say.”
It goes silent for a while.
“Go on, the job?” Anya sighs.
“Oh yes. Well since I’m now the Council member for Gleethorpe…”
Several members of the Goodman Gang swallow hard.
“You’re a Council member?” Anya asks.
“Oh yes, ever since Daddy died- he was very popular. Anyway there have been some terrible happenings around the area, near the Inn, and I was thinking that something should be done about it- so I went to the Council to see whose responsibility it is… And you’ll never guess what they said?”
“Yours.” Anya states.
“Oh, Pelor be blessed, you have got a lot of brains. Yes, that’s right- so I thought what should I do, and for a while I couldn’t think of anything… and then, well”, Lady Arabella stares up at Cas, flutters her eyelashes, and heaves her ample bosom, “then I saw Cassy.”
“Good old Cassy.” Ala cheers.
“Well yes, and I thought he’d know what to do.”
Cas smiles, awkwardly, as Lady Arabella rubs herself against him, oblivious to the looks of other members of the party.
“May I be excused?” Ala doesn’t wait for an answer, and is gone, Cas pleading with his eyes, but too late.
“And so”, Cas straightens, levering Lady Arabella away a little, “and so it’s up to us to head below and try to find the source of this violence… Excuse me.”
Cas gets up and swiftly follows Ala from the restaurant, and to their room, he’s late for a argument.
“Oh.” Lady Arabella looks a little forlorn.
“We’ll do it.” Newt offers his hand, Arabella shakes it slightly unsure, still looking around for Cassy.
Newt moves Arabella round so that she has Bec to lean on, the Gnome places her hand on Bec’s thigh; think corded muscle, deeply tanned, and as hard as a rock.
Bec chews on, oblivious.
“Now let’s talk money.” Newt enquires.
Some time later a fee is agreed, a thousand gold coins will be paid for the end of the terror, Newt concludes the deal.
Malchor, the Innkeeper, waves them goodnight, they’re the last of the late drinkers in the bar, sighs and sets to cleaning up the mess they’ve left behind, and no tip.
Next Turn: Who’s who?
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