Danger at Dunwater

1,000 gold to smack a few fish men - count me in! says Gazza enthusiastically

Venemar studies the scrolls, while Albionus is speaking."These plans of the tunnels within the stronghold are invaluable. Where is this stronghold? Also, are you able to say which level contains the entrance to the outside and which parts are underwater?" he says to the emissary of the lizard folk.

"We will do our best in this endeavour and your offer conditional upon accomplishment of the objectives is most generous. We are also grateful for the potions to enable us to breathe underwater, the salves to prevent water damage and the ship. We also thank you for the aid of Corporal Stoutly and his brave comrades. We also thank the Lizardfolk for the aid of their warriors and officers."

Venemar in a moment of self doubt hopes that they are doing the right thing. What little he has heard about the Sahuagin is not good. However, they all thought they were doing the right thing when they raided the lair of the Lizardmen. After the deaths of some lizardmen, it turned out that their assumptions about the Lizardfolk were wrong. Now they were allies.

Venemar translates Oceanus’ words about the Sahuagin.

The elf’s comments bolster his resolve.

The doors swing open, and into the inn steps a tall figure in a dusty cloak. A scarred & callused hand pulls down the hood revealing a man in his late forties with tousled brown hair, matted beard, and whiskers, an old scar across his weathered face. Battered armor peeks from underneath the cloak. The man favors his left leg, grasping a halberd carried more like a walking stick than a weapon. An empty sword scabbard flaps comically at his side. A soldier of fortune down on his luck. There's no shortage of such men on the roads. Often, the only question is what they'll do for coin: cause trouble or help stamp it out.

The newcomer makes for an empty booth and sits heavily before ordering the poorest meal available. While waiting his gaze sweeps lazily over the other patrons, lingering for a moment on Oceanus. It seems the man caught the elf's comment about sahuagin.

Abigail was already sat in the inn, supping from a bowl of stew and bread. A medallion that functions as her holy symbol dips away from her chest each time she goes forward a bit to take the next spoonful of stew. Her hair was currently set back in a loose bun, but a few annoying locks still managed to escape the bondage of the rest and instead drape her soft face.
The robes she wears are simple and blue with silver stars dotting it. Her armor was currently stowed in the room she rented. She was thankful to be out of it for the time being, as travelling in it could be cumbersome.

As the elf and his companions have stopped talking for a long while, Ozrik loses interest. He grunts his thanks when his meal arrives.

"Say," he asks the server in a gravelly voice, "know of any work for a fighting man around here?"

Venemar looks up with interest at the words of the stranger with the halberd to the server.

Ozrik has got an itch underneath his armor where he can't reach. It's been days since he's washed. He scratches irritably at his beard. The server seems not to have heard his question so he asks again, levelly,

"I said, any work in this town for a fighting man?"

Venemar walks across towards the stranger with the halberd and smiles."I’m sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help hearing your question about where a fighting man might find work," he says, favouring a direct approach given the short time they have before embarking on their next adventure. "My name is Venemar. My friends and I are working for the Council of Saltmarsh. We could use your help if you are interested. Come and join us and discuss this further. Can I get you a drink?" says the paladin reaching towards his belt pouch over his plate mail.

The halberdier's eyes flick towards the hand reaching for the belt, making sure it's not going for a weapon. A little jumpy, this fighting man. He wipes a grubby hand on a trouser leg and rises to offer the gentleman a handshake.

"Call me Ozrik," he says, eyeing Venemar's companions.

"Just water for me, thank you," Ozrik adds, even as as he gazes wistfully at ale tankards and winecups.

Abigail notices the grubby gentleman being approached by a more formally dressed one. She listens as they talk, her ears perking up upon hearing something about help and the local council.
Before he walks back to his compatriots, she flags him down.
"Excuse me, did I hear that you are in need of assistance? I've been led to this town for a purpose, but I haven't a clue as to what it was. Unless, it is your group that I was led here to help. I can offer my services as a cleric, should your party require them."

"Well met Ozrik," replies Venemar, shaking his offered hand, when he hears Abigail, noticing her holy symbol and blue robe with silver stars. "Well, this is most fortuitous," he replies to the cleric, "the deity moves in mysterious ways and your presence here could be part of a divine purpose. As you heard, we are working for the Council. We would be very grateful for your assistance. Come and join us and we can discuss this further. Can I get you a drink?" he asks as he leads the cleric and the halberdier to the other party members.

"Yes, Celestial is certainly mysterious in his machinations," she replies, taking what she had not yet eaten with her to the new table.
"And yes, some wine would be lovely. I am called Abigail, by the way - Abigail Mythosweaver. How are you called?"

"My full name is Sir Venemar Faierling. I’m a paladin. Just call me Venemar," he replies as he leads Abigail and Ozrik to the other party members. "It seems we have two additions to our band - Abigail Mythosweaver, a cleric and Ozrik, a warrior," he says to the other party members. He offers to get each member a drink. Before heading to the bar, he lowers his voice, intending that only Ozrik, Abigail and the other party members can hear, "We have an early start tomorrow for our mission for the Council. I haven’t disclosed the details yet. Walls have ears and all that. It might be best to tell them everything when we’re boarding the ship. If they do not want to go, they need not and none will think the worst of them for it. I’ll let you get to know each other, while I get the drinks."

Ozrik offers a handshake to each of Venemar's companions. The sinole but well-mannered man is courteous to all. But to Abigail he shows an extra measure of deference. A religious man? Perhaps.