As Miklos followed the dwarf through the crowd he wondered where he was leading them. The selection of uninviting names taken by the local establishments didn’t add to his confidence.
Crowds like this always made Saeth feel uncomfortable. No room to swing a blade, no room to move about. And a crowd, so easily become a stampede. Why wouldn’t that red-faced dwarf just hurry up and pick a tavern? Wasn’t one the same as the next? Saeth touched the hilt of her dagger, just for comfort. And then her pouch of silver, because one could never be too careful of thieves in a city.
Feldard was sure the tavern he had checked into yesterday had been right down here…positive. The trouble with the landscape had become clearly apparent. It was made of livery of various different humans and they flowed around him changing from moment to moment like a blasted river. None of the establishments’ names sounded familiar. He couldn’t even see that infernal rainbucket he had been forced to climb. Nothing! It was like being trapped in an everchanging maze made of garish colored fabric!
“Are you such this is the right sort of area? I know a lovely spot o’er the other end of town…” asked the young mage. Miklos had read that dwarves had an uncanny sense of direction so he guessed that he knew where he was going. Passing the first public house he read the name.
Feldard trudged on, unable to allow himself to admit that nothing looked familiar, for well he knew how much a dwarf could be judged by others based on his sense of direction–no matter the people couldn’t be bothered to make a city that was navigable! Now they had an elf in tow, there was no way to admit that he’d gotten lost now.
“The ‘Joyful Fist’ Taproom sounds like a delightful and welcoming place.” Miklos wondered whether sarcasm was known to dwarves, and hoped that he did not take him seriously. There were few places in this busy city that were entirely free of noisy rabble and he was headed in the opposite way. “Perhaps a left here?” He hoped to turn the general course, but looking left the ‘Dancing Goblin Inn’ spewed its gap-tooth inhabitants out on to the street. “Perhaps not. I’d suggest a different city?”
The crowds pressed ever closer around the Inns and proved difficult even for the redoubtable dwarf to make way but toward the back end of the street the it eased and Maruc noted the Toothless Gargoyle Resthouse was possibly least patronised, at the moment.
“Master Feldard!” He called to the dwarf. I spy a free table over by the ‘Gargoyle’, I suggest we make our way over there.”
Feldard felt rescued a bit when his cleric friend picked a place–the Toothless Gargoyle for what it was worth. He hurried across trying to keep pace with him, bringing his shield and heavy footmace up onto the chair to add his own aura of polite menace to the cleric’s. It seemed to work and soon he found himself a good three feet higher and with a mug in his hands. Things were indeed looking more favorable. Still he would have to sneak away at some point later to see about his possessions–wherever THEY were…
Maruc lengthens his stride as he spots someone else trying the bag the free table. Maruc casted his heavy traveling bag onto the table as the man sits down. Macus drags his heavy cloak around revealing the Halavist ceremonial shield and armour. He allowed the man a few seconds to see his clerical garb and his wide implacable grin. “My friends and I have traveled from many corners of the land to experience the generosity and welcome of the folk of Specularum.” Maruc left the words hanging as the rest of the party approached. The man was about to say something but slowly withdrew muttering something under his breath.
“Blessed are the folk of Specularum!” Maruc called after his retreating back.
Loosening her bandoleer as she stepped quickly, Saeth managed to reach the table before the priest moved his gear from tabletop to a seat. She tossed her great blade across the table. With a deep thud, it claimed for her a seat on the bench that leaned against a wall. She had many years yet to live, and had no desire to get a drunk’s knife in her back, as fearless Lord Bornhold did, way back in Callair. But, with her seat claimed, further introductions could wait. With a curt nod, the sellsword elf turned her attention to finding the innkeeper. She wasn’t lying when she’d told the boy she needed a place to sleep. And she’d need to order ales for the table from him as well. She counted on her fingers to be certain; four ales should do to start. The prices for rooms here were highway robbery! Saeth supposed, however, that this was to be expected during festival season. At least she wouldn’t be in a stable again tonight, even if this wasn’t the Duke’s keep.
As the others approached the cleric said, “Sit! Sit my friends and let us all be known. I am Maruc, a servant of the people of Karameikos. The stern Dwarven Lord Feldard I already know, so whom do we have the pleasure of the company of?”
* * * * *
A Dwarf and an elf together? Not natural, something up. Add in the youth and a Halavist, and something definitely worth keeping an eye on. Nicolai orders a pint of the second worst ale available, and sits at a table adjacent to the unusual grouping.
Not an easy task to follow and listen to a group such as this. Dwarfs and Elves are too observant. Need to change appearance if they stay here for too long or move on.