Eldrog, Mercival and Willow - The Beginning

Eldrog, Mercival and Willow
The night passes in relative quiet, though at one point Canterfree notes that the guards on watch are a bit uneasy with the forest sounds coming in the night. While the company of others can be calming, the pitch blackness that is the interior of the Dreadwood can break the will of the stoutest heart, and tonight the fell beasts seem to be out in force.

Be that as it may, the night passes without incident and in the morning the camp breaks and just after sunrise you find yourselves on day two of your trip. The sky remains overcast, more that had been the previous day, but the weather holds until you reach the small fishing town of Sanduchar toward the end of the day. The city of 5,000 is walled, and has a small port where no more than three ocean-capable vessels can dock. Numerous fishing boats line the northern piers, however, and a pair of large warehouses dominate that district.

Passing through the open gates, the wagoners pull themselves into a stable area. The first wagon, led by a man you have come to know as William Gaines, looks to be unloading as well loading goods. The rest, however, merely make arrangements to park their wagons until it is time to be off once again.

The last wagoner, Herford Mellon, slowly walks past your wagon and all but stares a hole in Mercival's chest before turning and walking into town. "Good day to you, too, sir Mellon!" Bastion calls out, hopping off of the wagon. "The night is yours, fellows! First light we make for Seaton. Try not to get scooped up by the Hands!" he says as he, too, heads into the city proper.

Mercival
William Gaines, an aging, common-looking man with peppered brown hair pulled up under a loose cloth cap, turns to face you. In his youth he must have had severe acne, as his sun-dried face is now pock marked and covered in sweat. He stops pulling a sack of grain from the back of his wagon and wipes his face with a cloth.

"Aye, yer lerdship, th Silent Hands 'r' a group yer not werntin' ta be knowin'. Cutthorts th' lot o' 'em, sooner take yer liver as ta speak wit' yer. Rogues n ruffians th' lot o' erm." he says, his nasally voice whistling as he speaks. Pausing to see if you have anything further, he once again begins to tug at the sack of grain.

Eldrog
The man you stop looks to be a warehouse worker of some sort, engaged with your and other wagons as they load and unload goods from the large building near where you all stopped. He nods in greeting, pointing toward town "Prolly wanna see Barristers. My fav'rt place, any who. Good food, good drink, good gaming. All a feller could be wantin'."

Mercival
The man stops once again, a bit of a grimace on his face at being interrupted yet again. "Plenty o' goods nerdin' th' sellin' tween heres n theres." Gaines replies. "Like here, see, I'r be gettin seed fer th' horses 'n' th' like. Plenty need or that, right? So's fer yer eminernces notin', p'raps yer good wit' ther smithin'. Hear there's good smithin' there but more work'n workers, eh?"

Investigation check
Mercival's goal is finding a smithy that specializes in cheap, mass produced work-related goods like iron nails for fishing boats and horseshoes and the like.

Eldrog
The town seems similar to other towns of its size, with townsfolk going about their daily business, the watch on patrol in groups of three of four men - all bearing the Keoish insignia on their armor or shield - and merchants conducting business both in and out of their establishments.

Barristers seems to be a rowdy tavern, crowded, with folks of all sort making up the clientele. You are able to find a spot at the bar, as all tables are already occupied. One area off to the left appears to be corded off, with various bouts of gambling going on. Cards, dice, darts, all being used by patrons as ways of making or losing their hard-earned coin.

On the far side of the room, away from the bar, a low stage has been set up and there is a young girl performing some sort of a stomping dance while a pair of minstrels drum and lyre in time. The tavern is loud, a vast difference from the quiet of the road and it takes a few minutes for you to adjust to the smoky air and thrumming noise.

The barkeep acknowledges you, his face a mass of thick, weed-like hair that hangs from his nose to his belly, completely hiding his mouth. His head, however, is shaven, and almost completely covered in tattoos. His arms, like his head, are heavily tattooed as well. After a few moments wait, a foaming mug of ale and heaping plate of stew appear before you.

MercivalYou wander around the town for a bit, checking out the various shops and mercantile as you search for a smithy meeting your needs. Most seem to be in the business of providing gear suited to wagons, farming or the towns guard, but you eventually come to a smith that has heaps of nails, large hooks, spear tips and other such items piled about.

The anvil is fairly large, but more impressive is the huge bellows at the back, where a pair of you apprentices leap up to pull it down, release it, then leap yet again, forcing blasts of air into the area. From outside you can feel the heat, as a thick dwarf works a chain pulley, causing a kiln to tip over and dump its liquefied metal onto several metal trays lying along the flat of the anvil itself. Quickly the metal pours over the area, as he smooths away the excess with a metal trawl, the droppings getting caught in grooves that run along its sides.

Satisfied with what he sees, he finally looks up to see you there, and he gives you an acknowledging nod of the head. Walking over, hew removes a pair of worn, leather gloves and wipes his hands on his smock.

"G'day t' tinz, priest. What'r ya be needin' this fine day? Best o' the city, so yinz come t' the right place for sure." he says, his dwarf accent thicker than his waistline.

"Oy be Hilgo; Hilgo Bandylegs. Yinz got a title for yinszself, sir?"

Eldrog
Everything seems in order,a s you take a final look around the wagons and supplies that you have been contracted to guard. With a final eye, you settle in for the night.