Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Sirus]

Tomrik's Hollow.

A bustling community in the Northern Reaches, ringed by stone walls to ward away the occasional rebel group or beastman raid, and surrounded by farmland to the east and the Dark Wood to the west.
Founded by and named for the great hero Gregorius Tomrik, it has grown from a single muddy street into the center of local commerce and culture. His descendant, Gunther Tomrik, rules the town as lord.
Nominally still part of the Empire, Tomrik's Hollow finds itself mostly standing on its own. Aside from the great coastal city of Gateway, there exists no other significant military force in the region.
This far from the Alabaster Throne, the chaos and upheaval caused by the orc uprising is almost nonexistent. People go about their business as usual, just with perhaps a bit more apprehension than normal.
This, as with so many things, is about to change.

The Dusty Duck was a perennial favorite among the locals and vagabonds of Tomrik's Hollow. Its drinks weren't the best, but nor were they the cheapest. The food was adequate, but neither particularly moldy nor particularly exquisite. The wenches, while pretty enough, were not for hire like in a couple of the grungier watering holes along the docks. But it was the oldest tavern/inn in town, and that lent it a certain prestige that none of the other establishments could match.

The tavern was lively on this fine Summer evening. A group of halflings from Good Fortune were singing (loudly and out of tune) around an extinguished fireplace. The serving girls were kept busy bringing tankards of ale and plates of food to a number of tables. A dwarf sat on one end of the bar, examining a strange tome. The bartender nodded welcome to a well-built woman in a red cloak while completely missing another, younger-seeming woman that managed to slip in unnoticed.

Everyone gave the large orc in the corner a wide berth. Although she was alone, and the majority of the orc rebels were raising havoc down south, no one wanted to set this one off.

Imrak, Raina, Maraline, and Hate are in!

[IcyTea31]

As she walks in, Raina responds to the nod and addresses the barkeeper, beaming.

"Henry! I'll have a cup of the good stuff, the real good stuff, for myself and Maraline. Today's a good day!"

[lawastooshort]

Having failed for some time to catch a serving girl’s eye, Hate got up and ambled over to the bar, waiting to order. She was quiet for such an imposing form.

”Beer.

Please.”

She tried to look bored rather than wary: she was planning to leave at midnight to acquire and deliver a set of fairly fresh internal organs. It meant she could afford to drink, but that she probably shouldn’t… In the meantime, she was happy to be left alone.

[Rockeater]

Ptw

[Sirus]

Henry waves in acknowledgement. "Two cups, coming up! One for you and one for...ah, if it isn't young miss Stukberg! I warn you now, young lady, that I counted the coins in the till!" The barkeep added the last sentence in a mock-serious tone of voice, wagging a finger even as he smiled. He and Maraline's father had gone back quite a ways.

"And, ah, coming right up ma'am. Just as soon as I tend to these two." The much-smaller Henry put on a brave face but clearly was unused to having 7-foot orcs in his tavern.

[Kagus]

Imrak averts his eyes from his book long enough to disdainfully regard the other patrons, before returning to the important and pressing matter of ignoring everything.

He grumbles softly to himself through his whiskers, absentmindedly patting the coarse hairs with a spare hand.

[GiglameshDespair]

"Cheers, Raina."
Maraline Stukberg was a diminutive figure - even compared to the other humans in the bar, never mind the seven-foot orc that loomed up as she approached the bar.
Despite that, the girl snorted at the barkeep's comment.
"Yeah, sure, Henry. Now was it twenty coins you had? Nineteen? Oh, look, musta been three."
She grinned cheekily, wrapping her hands around the cup the older man handed her.

[Sirus]

Before Henry can finish serving, however, there's a commotion outside.

"^{_{--again! That's a dozen gone missing this month! I'm not gonna put} up with this pigshit} one more day, I'll tell you!"

Into the Dusty Duck bursts an older man in the raggedy clothing of a farmer. He is quite clearly agitated, and also quite clearly not entirely sober. Henry puts down a tankard with a sigh. "Evenin', Dawls. What are you making a racket over this time?"

"It's my goats, dammit! Another one went missing last night! No blood, no broken fences, no nothing! Just gone!"

"Ye sure ye didn't just get the count wrong again, eh Dulls?!" a wit among the patrons shouts. Dawls stops ranting in order to glare unsteadily at the crowd.

[Sirus]

Apparently unable to find the heckler, Dawls climbs onto a chair so he can be heard above the general din.

"I'm tellin' ya! Someone's stealing my goats, and I want the bastard caught! I've got money! Catch whoever is doing it and bring 'em to justice, and I'll pay everyone involved a silver shilling! I swear on my ancestors!"

A few people look interested now, but most are either cracking jokes or returning to their drinks. Henry attempts to draw Dawls down off of his chair.

[IcyTea31]

"A shilling, you say, for what sounds like an easy job? We'll just have to think like goat thieves, or perhaps like goats. That's something you can do, right, Maraline?"

Raina gives Maraline a knowing smile as she drinks, slightly wincing at the alcohol's strength, before talking a little quieter.

"Though given how I've heard Dawls treats his goats, it wouldn't be a wonder if they've just run away or something. Wouldn't be the first time. Still, easy money for a bit of wrangling. What do you think?"

[lawastooshort]

Hate hesitated. A shilling? And silver? Real silver? That sounded nice. But getting involved with missing anything could mean a narrowly escaped angry mob for an obvious seven foot tall brute. Even here, everybody knew that orcs were untrustworthy good-for-nothings, right? Only good for the filthy work no one else might want to do. Corpses, cabbages, and sewers. Probably not as far as goats.

She looked at the two human women in a way she hoped might suggest interest but absolutely no prior involvement whatsoever no sir.

[IcyTea31]

Raina looks at Hate, noting the interest.

"Ah, madame Orc, you want to join in? Well, if it's a shilling for everyone, not a split, I don't see why to refuse help. Heh, if you're as strong as orcs usually are, bet you could lift a goat in each hand and just carry them into the woods..."

[lawastooshort]

"I- I didn't do that!"

Hate realised it wasn't an accusation.

"Yes, I would, thank you... I probably could..."

She looked down at her beer. Were those blushes or blotches?

[GiglameshDespair]

"Never seen an orc blush before," Maraline remarked, doubtlessly reducing the embarassment Hate was feeling. "That said, if you had nicked the goats it'd be easy money gettin' them back, yeah? And if not... well, there might need to be some head-bashing or somethin'. "

She nodded, obviously decided, before she raised her voice.
"'Ey, Dawls! If you're bein' honest about that shillin', me and Raina and big green 'ere, we'll find your goats. Or maybe their bones. But we'll look for you."

[Kagus]

Scowling fiercely, Imrak slams his book shut and hops down from the barstool, straightening himself to his full height of nearly four feet.

"Incessant disruptions! Can't you see that I'm working on something important?! Even the lowest dwarfish drinking halls carried more poise than this lawless cacophony! By my beard, you'd never see a Bronzecudgel carrying on like this and disturbing a place of leisure! We have some decency... And a Bronzecudgel digs deeper into his cups than any other!"

Slightly distracted by his own boasting, he puffs himself up even more.

"And furthermore! There's no sense searching for wayward goatseekers when a dwarf clearly stands before you! No other race carries greater kinship with the caprine kind; dwarfs have tended goats since before the lesser mountains ground down to the valleys you now colonize... Indeed, from the rock came the dwarf, and from the dwarf came the goat; their bearded heritage showing as proudly as our own. Why, my grand-uncle Gjermund is the finest goatherd in the mountainhomes, singlehandedly raising hundreds of the finest dairy goats for near on two centuries!"

Still scowling but clearly quite pleased with himself, Imrak strides over to the goatherd and stands at attention.

"I, Imrak of the Bronzecudgels, respected scholar and famed orator, humbly accept the terms of your request. And as a sign of my generosity, I'll even handle the necessary legalities free of charge."

Pulling the requisite materials from the writing kit in his pack, Imrak begins drawing up a contract.

"Full name and place of residence...?"