The Castle Griffonwatch was more of a Keep than a true castle, set upon the highest rise in the land east of Hulburg to watch out over the Highfells more than a hundred years ago to halt invasions from the savage races that dwell in Thar. Its stables and outer buildings were guarded by the risen land instead of any walls, though at the front there was a north wall with a gate that was a less natural means of protection.

Back down the road was Hulburg. A modest city, some would say. Others would claim it was more of a moderately sized town, with only about 6,000 inhabitants, mostly human. There was a small, strong Dwarven population as well that traded and worked both here and in Glister, the town to the north that mined the minerals from the Galena mountains. Hulburg would be considered quaint from someone hailing from Baldur's Gate or Waterdeep, or any other of the larger, more well known cities of the Realms. However, it was civilized and bustling with trade activity as usual.

Today, the Harmach Grigor Hulmaster awaited those who received a call he had sent out to Adventurer and people of skill for an errand he wants done. The call was made out a week ago, setting itself upon this date to come to Griffonwatch to answer the summons. It is now noontime, and the sun is out shining brightly, with ne'er a cloud in the vast blue sky. The air is cool and a tad windy, bringing the smell of the sea not two miles away into the mainland.

As the adventurers walk up, they will find the gate of Griffonwatch open but guarded by Shieldsworn. They are the Harmarch's personal fighting force of Griffonwatch, set to keep the peace. The sergeant stands in front, ready to treat with whomever answers the summons for aid.
@Not Fishing@Vor@Assallya

Darius approached the keep, clad in his usual armor with all of his daggers in their sheathes and his light crossbow on his back. His cloak and staff had been left at the inn he was currently staying at. Better to let them know he was armed to teeth than look like he was trying to hide it, even if it might cause the guards to be instantly suspicious.

As he approached, he eyed the defenses warily, but did not let himself be intimidated. Such places were built to be intimidating, after all. That, and he had seen his own fair share of castles and forts during his travel around the Moonsea. His wariness was mostly due to the fact that he tended to avoid authority figures unless it was work related. He had plenty of brushes with the law in the past. While it was true that he was often the one who had committed the crime, there were also a few cases where he had tried to do the right thing, only to discover that the guard he reported an incident to was corrupt, or they simply didn't trust his word against that of a wealthy nobleman.

The only reason he had come at all was because he was having difficulty finding work. Performing an errand for the family who ran the city would not only grant him a sizeable amount of coin, but also potentially get his name out there. Assuming this Grigor Hulmaster was fair in his dealings, that is. There had been many an occasion where an employer had gotten greedy and refused to pay him. And usually, a few choice items went 'missing' from their home a few weeks later.

"So!" He suddenly said as he walked towards the Sergeant, putting up a friendly smile and holding his arms outstretched, clearly revealing the sheathed daggers at his wrists. "I hear you're in need of aid. But first, I take it you'll be confiscating our weapons?" He asked, motioning to remove one of his daggers, although in truth he detested the idea of giving it up.

The garishly painted vardo wagon rocked as it passed into rutted area of hardened muck before the town gates. It rocked and jostled, iron springs squeaking between the wooden slats as they attempted to compensate for the rough terrain. The sole occupant of the wagon, a blonde elven woman winced even through the many cushions she had arrayed on the wooden bench.

"By Myrkul's shrivelled black balls..." she muttered as she gripped the reigns for the draft horse that pulled the wagon, "what is it with this entrance, my tits are falling off!"

Ahead, the gates of this gods forsaken town lay open but guarded, presumably against the orcish hordes that were perpetually upon the minds of the local smallfolk. They were currently frisking a man, questioning him on his intentions, his profession and whatever other useless questions that guards were wont to ask.

The elven woman was a ravenous thing, with long lustrous golden curls and skin fair as new fallen snow. This day she wore her gypsy outfit. The colourful skirts arrayed about her bare legs. Her crimson blouse wrapped around her generous bosom. At her side, concealing her loaded crossbow was an oud, her instrument of choice. Yes, today she was a simple gypsy.

Orun trudged up the path leading to Griffonwatch Keep, each step of his accompanied by the rhythmic clinking of armour. He shifted his considerable weight to the morningstar in his right hand so that each clink was accompanied by a heavy thud as well. The sun was shining and the sky was clear, but he kept the hood of his grey robes up, not wishing to attract any unnecessary attention. Up ahead, he could see the gates of the keep, as well as the defenders in their polished armour questioning a man, a traveller by the looks of him.

Behind the man, a colourful wagon was pulling up with a squeak; another traveller, perhaps? Nay, not travellers, they had to be adventurers. Why else would they come at such a time? The Harmach, the title the local ruler fancied, had been clear – on the seventh day after his summons, he would await adventurers at noon within his castle. That is what had brought Orun to this town and by the looks of it, he wasn't the only one. Whatever the case, he would find out soon enough.

A few minutes later, Orun found himself before the gates and the contingent of guards set to watch over them. He strode up to them with confidence and pulled back his hood, revealing his orcish features. What followed next was expected, but there was no way to avoid it, especially not in these towns that were constantly under threat from his bestial cousins.

As if by an unheard command, all the guards reached for their swords, narrowing their eyes at him. On the walls, he could see the crossbowmen taking aim. Whatever else their leader had been preoccupied with before his arrival was quickly brushed aside. With his hand still on the hilt of his sword, he approached Orun.

“What fell business brought you here, beast? Speak quickly, before I order my men to cut you down!”

Orun looked down at the small human, who held his ground with the confidence of someone who had seen many a battle. His reaction mirrored the ones of the locals back in Hulburg. Orcs were deeply hated here and for good reason, Orun couldn’t fault these people. Of course, that meant that despite his generous offering to the innkeeper he had only managed to secure a dirty stall in the stables for himself. Still, better that than a cell in the dungeons or worse…

The orc tapped his breastplate, where Kelemvor’s scales were engraved for all to see. When he spoke there was no hesitation or fear in his voice. If he was to die here, then so be it, but he knew that his God would not let it come to pass.

“I have come to answer your lord’s summons.” He declared in a deep, gruff voice. “Do not seek to bar my way, for I come here on The Great Guide’s behalf.”

As the new arrivals made it to the gate, two other curious companions showed themselves. The first one was a dashing young man clad in leather over a chaimail shirt. He had twin arming swords strapped to his back, and his blue eyes bespoke a passion and an inner wisdom. He looked about the place, and gave particular appraisal to the walls as if he wished to climb them himself.

The next companion was someone that had the Guards going to the hilts of their weapons for. They'd been wary around the towering Orc approaching, but the sight of a Duergar of all things gave them pause. Broad shouldered and thick limbed, though wiry in build (compared to others of his stout race, at least). His coal black skin matched the black leather tunic and gambeson he wore. An assortment of pouches and large daggers were strapped to his trim waist. A dust grey beard was the only hair visible on his head, and his eyes were red like the pits of hell. He looked about with a professional and pragmatic gaze, as if he expected to have to kill his way out eventually.

The Sergeant was close to middle age, wearing an iron cap atop his head to match his military garb, and the tabard with the shield symbol of the Shieldsworn. He had a round and blunt head, like the end of a hammer. "Hold." he said to companions as they stood before him. "We are in need of aid, and we do not bar anyone's path. We shall escort you to the Harmarch, if you have truly come for the Summons. And no, there is no need to confiscate your weapons. You are the Harmarch's guests." A few of the guards gazed warily at the Orc and Duergar, nodded to Darius, and gave quite the appreciation for the beautiful gypsy.

The young man raised his brow at Sergeant's claim, clearly surprised but impressed at the hospitality shown to them. "Well, alright." he said, his tone indicating a quick wit, as if he could find sarcasm to be used in anything. The Deep Dwarf nearly huffed, and crossed his arms.

The Portcullis was opened, and the Sergeant introduced himself as Kolton. He lead them across the stark but fair furnished courtyard into a wide set of steps climbing up between the barracks, stables, armories, and storehouses of the Shieldsworn. The stairwell made it up to an oaken door that led to a hallway, that turned into a wider corridor.

The inner furnishings were modest, at least for a wealthy home. Merely pictures and tables of vases and lamps lined the wall. They then found themselves entering a Great hall lined with stout stone pillars, as dining table to sit on with 8 seats readily available. An older man stood at the head of it. "Well met." he said with a kindly smile. Blue and grey banners emblazoned with shield symbols lined the ceiling about them. Behind the man, a great hearth fire was lit.
@Vor@Assallya@Not Fishing

Only shortly after Darius attempted to initiate conversation with the guards, their attention was diverted to the other newcomers. Most notably, an Orc who appeared to be wearing some sort of armored set of robes, and a Duergar who carried several daggers. They made an interesting sight, and Darius raised his eyebrows. Although he didn't have anything against their races, not many of their kind would choose to so brazenly approach a stronghold of heavily armed humans. It was a fortunate thing that the Sergeant was able to defuse the situation.

Briefly looking the elven gypsy up and down, Darius then turned and followed the Sergeant in, giving a nod to the Deep Dwarf from one dagger enthusiast to another.

Darius was actually somewhat surprised when he entered the Great Hall. He had robbed minor nobles with more lavish furnishings than the room he was standing in. What could that mean? Were they just being modest? Were they cheap or falling on hard times? If it was either of the last two, then perhaps this job might not be as lucrative as he thought...

Hiding his disappointment from his face, Darius walked up to the table and immediately sat down on one of the chairs, folding his arms behind his head. "So, I hear you're in need of aid." He repeated, giving the old man a friendly smile of his own. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of him. Anyone, especially a noble, could put on a friendly face whenever they wanted something from somebody else.

Assallya didn't know what the fuss was concerning the Duergar. There was no underdark beneath the shifting sun scorched sands of Calimshan. To her he was only a dusky skinned dwarf. It made her curious as there were others that looked just as dangerous. Still, it was looking to be a decent group of warriors to protect her and do the fighting for her. That was a requirement for any endeavor she set out upon.

The elven gypsy's skirts swished back and forth as she Followed along in the procession and into the keep proper. She had to admit, she had expected more. She had seen brothels more lavish. By the nine hells, her former master and pasha back in Calimshan had a better estate. This caused her some concern, particularly in the area of if the lord could actually follow through on whatever promises were made.

Wandering the hall aimlessly she swept her hands across surfaces, her delicate fingers brushing works of art that she deemed to be little more than then work of hobbyists. The far north was so spartan, so utilitarian. it was as if they concentrated every iota of their being on survival. How boring.

The Harmach’s residence was not what Orun had expected and already his respect for the city’s ruler was growing. Instead of fanciful tapestries and gilded furnishings there were bare walls, with only a hint of decoration here and there, in the form of a vase or the pictures that humans seemed to love so much. Orun didn’t understand their fascination with them, truth be told; unmoving images of places and people that were usually long gone, there was no vibrancy or life to them, no matter how much these so-called painters tried to convince folk otherwise.

Swords and spears were placed in racks along the walls and arrow-slits every couple of feet provided a commanding view of the terrain below. It was obvious that the owner of the fortress took the security of his home and subjects seriously. That was the reason for Orun’s newfound respect for the Harmach, who seemed to be a pragmatic man that placed value in practical things, as opposed to the wasteful fancies of other nobles. A ruler’s home should be like his land – rich kings had rich palaces, while the Harmach’s keep mirrored Thar’s harsh and barren features, which was exactly as it should be, as far as Orun was concerned.

His would-be companions were a strange mix, but then again, what good adventure began with a group of ordinary folk? Even the stoic Orun smiled at that thought, as he made his way through Griffonwatch’s halls. The Grey Dwarf was certainly a rare sight, more so than even an Orc like Orun, which no doubt made the guards doubly anxious. An elven woman was the owner of the creaky cart he’d seen on the road and she had the look of a traveller or perhaps a wandering peddler. The other two humans that walked with their group seemed like the dashing sort that such calls to adventure often drew.

The thuds of Orun’s morningstar echoed through the keep’s hallways, until they finally arrived at the Great Hall, where they found the Harmach awaiting them at the head of a large table. He greeted them curtly, without any flowery preamble, and bade them sit. Chairs were laid out in anticipation of the guests and so Orun leaned his weapon on one of the walls before taking a seat. The chair groaned precariously under his considerable weight and the table trembled slightly when he rested his big hands on its surface.

“Harmach, I am Orun Greystone and I have come here on Kelemvor’s behalf.“ He began directly, repeating the words he had given to the guard sergeant. “Your lands are plagued by miscreants and the undead, it is said, and my Lord has seen fit to send his servant to investigate. You can rely on our continued support, as long as your plans do not go against the teachings of the Church.”

Having said his piece, Orun leaned back slightly, causing the chair to wince yet again. What he had said was not a lie, nor an exaggeration. Kelemvor had guided him here, he was certain of it – dreams did not lie, if one knew what to look for. Either way, he would find out soon enough.

Dhyannah had been in town for about two days by this time. Stalking her surroundings, scouring the land and scrapping up what information she could about the one who sent for her. She had kept herself to small circles, it was very rare for someone to know her by name. And the jobs she had taken over the last year, she could hardly believe they had served her so well as to make a name for the huntress. Not everyone had taken kindly to the bloody nature in which she killed. Not everyone had the stomach for it. But she was good at what she did.

She had received the summons nearly a week ago, but wasn't very far from the specified location and thought it prudent to use the opportunity to her benefit. The rogue watched as the others arrived, eyeing each detail, every sharp edge and shadow. It was certainly an intriguing group, and she took note of everything; the stiff movements, the cautious gazes, uncertainty of some and the confidence of others. She typically worked alone, but this group seemed to have enough secrets, she was sure she would fit right in, or at least as much as the next person would. Perhaps the Sergeant was the most interesting of them all in this setting. The one who seemed to be uncomfortable with it all, yet trying to keep it all together. He kept his men from badgering the dark dwarf, even dismissed the need to inspect their weapons. What if there was a traitor among them? A wolf in sheep's clothing perhaps?

A soft chuckle escaped her as they were escorted in. And as the last of them disappeared into the grand home of their host, Dhyannah settled back into the shaded rooftop of a nearby building. She loosed a breath as her backside slid to the ground, and wondered if this would be her last adventure. It all made her very curious. What sort of quest would require their aid, their audience? What sort of situation would have the Sergeant and his men so unhinged? “Time to go then.”, she mumbled with a wry smile, removing herself from the rooftop.

Dhyannah wore something special today, it was indeed an occasion to be invited on a quest of such epic proportions. Steadily, she sauntered towards their hosts abode, sporting dark green trousers tucked into charcoal grey boots, tied up both sides to her knee. A finely crafted, dark grey leather chest piece concealed most of a cream colored tunic, with the exception of the tails that extended out over her rear. The neckline was left untied, and the sleeves were tucked into bracers that were similar make to the rest of her leathers. Her cloak hovered over her figure, the frayed ends dancing carelessly over the cobblestones as she moved. Free of jewels and amulets, save a beast’s tooth hung around her neck to accompany her attire. It wasn’t until she actually reached the guards did she remove her hood and mask, revealing a face void of emotion. She extended a hand to the men, holding the summons she had received, requesting her presence.

One guard, far younger in years than her, had stepped forward to greet the rogue, then escorted her inside. Though her gaze rarely tore from the path ahead, she took in the modestly decorated home. There was often much more to a person or a household than what they surrounded themselves with, unless of course it was a simpleton who summoned her here. It wasn’t the barest of homes she had done a job for, she only hoped it could deliver. Coming upon a great hall, she noticed the rest of the lot, sat at a large table, their host at the head. Being the last one in often drew attention, and she was not normally one for a grand entrance. So, simply and quietly, she dipped her head to the group and took up an empty seat.

Sumia rode hard on her faithful steed as she approached the gates of Hulburg. She looked up at the sky, noting it was slightly past noon. "I'm late. Good thing it's just to answer summons and not to fight yet. I'll just have to fight harder to make up for it."

As she got closer and closter the gate, Sumia slowed her steed and hopped off of it. She turned, petted it's neck, and gave it a pat, "I'm sorry for riding you so hard, Archemides, get some rest." she whispered to it, and waved as it dissappated into the air. One of her gifts from Helm. She smiled and waved goodbye before turning back around and heading towards the gate. Sumia pulled the summons out of her satchel and showed it to the guards. He looked at it and grinned at her.

"Late on a magical steed?" he chuckled. "Harmach is already meeting with a group, but better late than never I guess."

Sumia sighed, and brushed her braid back behind her ear, "Funny...Look I've come a pretty long way on short notice. May I pass?"

"Sure..." he pointed to one his men and pointed inside, "Show her to them." the man saluted and escorted her to the small meeting room. She followed behind him with an elegant gait, her hips swaying slightly, her armored boots clackinng lightly on the ground, yet no wasted movement. They were the movements of one very familiar with a blade.

The man gestured her to go inside which she did. "Apologies for being late, my lord. I ran into some trouble on my way here. I couldn't simply just ride by someone being attacked. But I am here to help however I can." she smiled at him, waiting by the door until he told her to enter and take a seat.

The elven gypsy girl was beginning to like the group that was being formed and then the rogue came in. Assallya didn't like the inclusion of another woman. Women weren't quite so easily manipulated as the men were and men were less protective of a singular woman when others were about. Still, at least this woman did not appear ladylike. She didn't move like a typical woman. There was grace to her but not a lady's grace. It was the grace of a predator stalking her prey and yet... Assallya couldn't put her finger on it. There were some movements that didn't feel right, something other than restrained violence. She was concealing something in her movements.

She found herself regretting her choice of attire. Maybe she should have gone with the wizardly garb, or the duchess outfit, or her thief leathers... something more worthy of respect than a common gypsy girl who may as well have been dancing atop the table than sitting at it.

Striking a more regal posture she sat up straight in the high backed chair and calmly placed one hand over the other on the table, looking every bit a porcelain queen.

Before them, and elderly chap that looked more like a kindly old grandfather than ruler of this swiftly growing town strode forward, his cane 'clacking' onto the stone every other step. Blue and grey banners emblazoned with shield symbols lined the ceiling about them in this central hall. To the left of the man, a great hearth fire was lit to keep the cold from seeping in. Guards, men of the 'Shieldsworn' lines the hall like the pillars that held the great roof above them.

"Well met, travelers." he said, his voice and eyes still full of a hidden strength and befitting a quality of leadership. "I take it you had no troubles finding your way?" As he approached, he had the barest hint of a smile from the joke, for Griffonwatch Keep was upon the highest bluff to the north east and could be viewed from almost anywhere for miles around. "Indeed, I think it fortuitous that so many have come to my call. These are dire times you know, though of course, dire times breed men and women who look for fortune."

The lean, younger man gave an appreciative smile at the elderly gentlemen's manner, as if looking at some memory he had not seen in years that amused him. The coal skinned Dwarf merely stayed silent, darkly garbed and red eyes as dangerous as the ferocious long Knives that were sheathed at his stout belt.

"But I digress," the older man chuckled. "I am Grigor Hulmaster, Harmarch of this fine settlement and I keep the peace, so long as it can be kept. But, at times I simply do not have the strength of numbers that I wish, you know. Pirates have raided our shipments, and the...new commerce in the city, while appreciative, causes various power struggles within my modest city. It is all my Shieldsworn and I can do to keep order within, much less without." He paused, letting them all absorb his words before he continued. "It is without, that I call you to go."

The Duergar (Deep Dwarf) squinted ever so lightly, hoping the old man would get to the point. A few paces to his left, nearer the fire, the human with the twin swords seemed to hang on the Harmarch's words, for that was where the payment would spring from.

"I know not if many of you have been here long, but as some of you may know, north of Hulburg is a barren land of highlands and lowland valleys where the dead are buried in tombs of old. We call it the Highfells. North of that is a wasteland called Thar, where many monsters and beasts roam and slaughter." As he spoke, he cleared his ancient throat. "Forgive me, I was about to regale you with a lecture in geography. I ramble you know... It is within the Highfells you go, for it is illegal to raid the tombs of old, yet someone recently has been doing this in increasing numbers. The legality is not only for respect, but an ancient curse of an older Lich lies on the land. If you open a tomb, you are liable to run into the risen dead called back to life by the magics of Aesperus, the King in Copper. I won't provide you with a history lesson unless you ask for it, but I will say this-"

He held up his finger. "-some say the King in Copper still resides within the Highfells. Though of course, those are only rumors. What is a more immediate danger, of course, are brigands, tomb robbers, spirits, and Orcs migrating south to raid. I task you all with finding who is out there, raiding the tombs, and bring them to justice. If it is done, and done in a manner that does not breech my trust, you will each receive one hundred and seventy five pieces of Gold. Does this task seem favorable to ones such as you?"

Sumia crossed her arms as she thought, she remained by the door since she wasn't permitted to sit yet.

It became pretty clear why the Eyes sent her here. A paladin of her skill would be almost neccessary to deal with evil spirits and the risen dead. Plus, whatever else lived in the Highfells. She took a few steps forward and nodded to the old man, "I will help as I said I would. However, my concern is more with preserving the peace of the dead than the money." Sumia tilted her head to the side, "I'm curious what you mean by 'and done in a manner that does not breech my trust', though? Are you implying we might try to steal from the tombs? Surely none of us are that low...." Sumia said the last part in a slightly warning tone. Intending such conduct would have immediate consequences from her.

The paladin would obviously never do such a thing but....the other's may. After all what's in the tombs may be worth far more than 175 gold coins. And a few didn't seem like the most.....upstanding of people. Sumia didn't like to hurt people, but foolishness could lead to death. For more than just themselves, possibly. The dead were not to be messed with.

By Cyric's black balls, who let the doily whipped, virgin princess of a knight into the room?

Assallya had been about to argue precisely that and barter for more coin. After all, the entire point of such risk taking was looting the bones of long fallen civilizations. Kings and Lords of this era were notoriously tight fisted with their coin. If they couldn't empty out their own purses then why not pilfer a little something on the side while doing great heroic deeds.

The blonde elf girl considered. She had originally considered playing at being the foolish simpleton girl that the men would feel obliged to protect but with the roguish woman and now this plated spoilsport ruining the fun there seemed to be little point to that tactic. Maintaining her assumed erect posture and regal demeanor she added a a noble's flair for the dramatic. It didn't quite fit the loose blouse but thankfully her colourful skirts were beneath the table.

"What need do the dead have their spoils?" the gypsy girl asked, tilting her head and peering back at the most unwelcome visitor with a smile that was entirely a lie, "I would argue that there are a great many orphans you could support with your gains or are you claiming that the moldering remains have more need of it than they? That would be quite immoral would it not? Sacrificing all those poor orphans on the altar of someone's selfish notions of idealism.

"Sir," she continued, addressing the Lord of Griffonwatch Keep, "I would say three hundred pieces of gold and exemption from taxes all manner of treasures we may stumble upon in our journeys."

Thud! Thud!

The thundering of a solitary pair of steel boots on hard ground quickly approached the keep. A lone dwarf, panting, and quite understandably so. Despite his high endurance, dwarven legs were not built for speed. Add in his heavy armor, the warm weather, and the keep's position on a mountain, and the result is quite possibly the most exhausting jog Joric had ever experienced in his entire life.

Finally, he came to a stop, red-faced and breathing so heavily he could barely form a sentence. The guards looked at him with questioning glances.

"I... I..." He sputtered out. Despite his exhausted, fatigued state, he somehow managed to grin. "...wouldn't want to keep you, but I've 'eard your call for aid, and came to see what all the yammering's about. You could say that getting here was... an uphill battle."

One of the guards chuckled. Another took his gauntlet off, just to bury his face in his palm. The rest had looks of either mild amusement or confusion. A few moments of silence passed, before their leader finally spoke. "The meeting's already underway. Head on in."

-----

Darius fought valiantly to conceal his boredom as the old man rambled on. But he knew that if he tuned out, he might miss an important detail, like what they would be facing or - more importantly - how much they would be paid. When the subject turned to the undead and ancient legends of curses, Darius's eyebrows raised in surprise.

In his years of traveling, all the foes he had fought were mostly living, sentient humanoids, with the rare aggressive wild animal here or there on the road. Never had he encountered an undead, and rarely did he have to deal with anything magic related (with the exception of his enchanted gear, of course.) His own experience with magic mostly consisted of having to avoid magical traps, wards, or alarms in the homes of particularly paranoid nobles. The amount of wizards he actually fought could be counted on one hand.

The actual pay for the job was one hundred and seventy-five gold. No meager sum, of course, but surely whatever he could find in those tombs would be much more valuable?

He was just opening his mouth to negotiate higher pay, when suddenly a late arrival - some sort of knight, it seemed, spoke up to warn them against doing exactly what Darius had been thinking. Those knights - such spoilsports. The elven gypsy then cut in, arguing almost exactly what Darius had been thinking, before asking for a rather... ambitious increase in pay. One seventy-five to three hundred was a huge leap, and with so many faces in the room and the rather modest furnishings in the household, it could turn out to be a ridiculous sum to ask from this man.

Still, he said nothing. That was how haggling worked, after all. You start with an outrageous counter-offer, and after long negotiation you eventually end up somewhere in the middle. For now Darius kept his mouth shut, to see how it would play out.

-----

Joric strolled into the meeting room, the sound of steel plates shuffling together immediately notifying everyone of his entrance. His breathing had calmed down significantly, and there were only a few beads of sweat on his face. "Sorry I'm late." he announced with a grin, walking up to the nearest unoccupied chair. "But you could say that I'm bringing a lot of skills to the table!" And he sat down at the table, as if to emphasize his point. "Now what's this about? I 'eard something about tombs and undead. Sounds like a task I could dead-icate myself to!"

The dwarf gave off a bit of an odor, which the elven gypsy he sat next to would probably be able to notice - it had been days since he last bathed.

Sumia unfolded her arms and let them fall to her sides, she shook her head at the gypsy, and kept her face serene, "You do not understand. Do not underestimate the dead, my lady. There are reasons we bury them with their treasured trinkets. One is to help them find peace knowing something they treasure is so close. Their families are generally the ones that decide this when burying them, including those orphans you mentioned, and removing them could be very dangerous depending on the spirit. Also, don't you wonder why it's so far away? It's because they're dangerous and that distance will generally keep them there. And that's all without factor of Aesperus that the good Lord here mentioned." she said, nodding to the Hammarch, "Which I don't recommend messing with. A swarm of undead or some sort of death plague is the last thing we need."

The half-elf tilted her head to the side and shrugged, "Besides, if that's what you're planning to do, you're no better than the theives that are already out there. A theft is a theft no matter the intent or the victim." she turned her head back towards the Hammarch, "That said, besides the coin for a few supplies I'll need after this adventure, you can go ahead and give most of my share to those orphans or even homeless, if there are any here. I'm sure all that gold would do them better than it would me."

Sumia looked back at Assallya, "As someone so concerned about the orphans, surely you'll join me and do the same, won't you?" she said, giving the other woman a pretty smile.

Her eyes floated around the table at those seated, and she began to wonder if she had made the right decision to answer this call. She could’ve simply ignored it, or sent a reply that she was otherwise engaged. As the gypsy woman sat up, something stirred within Dhyannah. There was something unsettling about the woman, and the movement only made the rogue want to drag a knife through her heart. She knew there was more than met the eye with this lot, she knew not to mistake the gypsy for the common whore she portrayed. But the slip of regal demeanor, it reminded Dhyannah of someone. And either the whore was trying to compensate for the commonness of her appearance or there was something else entirely to her, and that left Dhyannah with a sour taste that tickled the back of her throat.

One hundred and seventy five pieces of gold … she wasn’t sure what to make of her host. With the threats spoken of, she would need to purchase supplies, which unfortunately didn’t come cheap. And as more adventurers seated themselves at the table, it became very apparent that the only way they were getting a bigger cut was if one of them didn’t return.

She rolled her eyes as the paladin spoke. The only thing more annoying than a self absorbed whore was a self righteous paladin, and Dhyannah suddenly found herself siding with the gypsy woman. Though it was interesting that the men of this group had nothing to say. Too many women in a party often led to bad things, and the huntress wondered who in their mighty band would she end up bedding and which one would meet the lustful intent of her blades. Her eyes wandered to the males, scrutinizing their silence. Words of reason were needed, at the very least, and if none of them had the balls to share them with their current company, then perhaps none of them were worthy of her bed. She loosed a breath, frustration etched upon her face, and every muscle that tensed as the women passed words laced with knives and insult.

Despite all that had been said thus far, she wouldn’t cut in with her own opinion. Two women arguing over coin was enough to drive most to their deaths, three would just seal their fates right then and there. And so Dhyannah remained silent, however her thoughts were written in bold all over her face. She was never really good at hiding her emotions, she wasn’t going to magically start being good at it now.

To ease the tension that flooded her muscles, she reached for her flask and took a long swig. She didn’t care what the others thought of her. Because if they did decide to cross her, they would bathe in her fury. Her fingers drummed lightly on the table and she returned her attention to their host. Negotiations had begun, far be it from her to interfere, just as long as she got what’s hers. She had taken on jobs for less and always found ways around. Whatever price decided upon would keep her belly full and her weapons sharp.

"Valid points, Lady Knight." Darius suddenly interjected, a bit of irony in his voice at the 'lady knight.' To be quite honest, he wasn't entirely sure what he should make about her sudden act of charity. Had she done it out of genuine compassion, or just to spite the woman who disagreed with her? If it was the latter, then that made the act an empty gesture, and made her seem more petty than anything else. But her argument about why they shouldn't loot the tombs was convincing, and since he had limited experience on the matter, he had to bow to her judgement, especially because he had no desire to be cursed or haunted. He also thought of his own faith, and realized that if he wished to retain favor with the goddess he had recently started praying to, he probably shouldn't desecrate any graves, even if death wasn't Tymora's domain.

The result of all this thinking was that he suddenly found himself changing his mind about remaining silent. No one else was speaking up to halt the bickering, and he didn't he didn't come here to watch a catfight, as entertaining as those could be.

"I believe we have gotten off topic. This is clearly an urgent matter, and time is short." He looked over to Assallya. "...and every late arrival means there is less coin to be divided amongst us." As he said this, he pointed towards Joric (who furrowed his brow in response), and then to the paladin, both of whom had arrived late. Finally, he looked back to the old man. "One hundred and seventy-five does seem reasonable. Although I'm sure some public recognition for our deed - after it is done, or course - would go a long way to helping us all find future employment within your great city." He suggested, laying the flattery on thick.

The younger sellsword watched the women trade verbal blows back and forth, opening his mouth to speak but hesitating. It seemed he didn't want to seem like an ox-haunch, but in the end he simply spoke past them. "Do you have a map of the land, my good Harmarch?" he asked. He'd seen enough Catclaws in his life to have a sixth sense that this Gypsy woman might perchance be more than she appeared. Then again, even a common Gypsy that was earnest about herself often had hidden qualities. The Elven Knight seemed the perfect candidate to keep the other's attention so he could find out more. He saw the silent girl take a swig of her drink, and chuckled. She seemed less than impressed at the exchange or her future team.

The Duergar's gaze was about as dangerous as the daggers sheathed at his belt, even if he made no threatening moves and simply leaned against one of the stout pillars that lined the throne room. He stared intently at the Harmarch, though he glanced at the new Dwarf that walked in and he spat casually in his direction. There was bad blood between the Deep Dwarves and those that lived closer to the surface, though not so dangerous of a relationship as the Drow and Surface Elves.

"Hold!" the elder called, holding up his hand for silence. He pointed to the sellsword and assured him a map would be provided, though the Highfells were not so well known to anyone save a few well trod rangers, so wild and haunted of a place were they. "Now, onto the business of price. I believe my price is honest enough, I think. In fact I was planning on paying less, but took into account the dangers you would face. However, I will allow you to keep whatsoever you find on this expedition so long as it is not of Thentur make, for that would imply that you partook such an item from a tomb, you see. But indeed," he said to Darius. "I might offer further employment if this is done accordingly and well."

"I'll take your offer." the twin bladed Mercenary said, hands on his hips. The Duergar glanced once more at the other Dwarf, then nodded to the Harmarch. "Aye, I'll go."

Darius kept his expression neutral. That wasn't entirely what he had been hoping for. Some simple public recognition would have let people know he had done a job for the rulers of the city, which would make him come across as well recommended should he offer his services to anyone else. Settling into the service of a single employer didn't suit him. After he left his home city and the gang behind, he rarely served the same employer twice. In his experience, taking repeated jobs for the same person meant that they started to expect loyalty, and eventually hoped said loyalty would allow them to get away with paying him slightly less.

It may be a stable career, but he never wanted stability - he wanted freedom and independence. He never stayed in a town for more than a year. In fact, within a few months he could end up leaving the Moonsea altogether.

Additionally, while Darius was not well informed on the city's politics, he knew that the Hulmasters were in charge. Which meant that they were politicians, and politicians had rivals and agendas. He seemed honorable at first glance, but so did most nobles - they were supposed to. The first job may be to clear out some bandits or stop some tomb raiders, but the second or third might be to discredit or eliminate a political rival, and the rival's family may decide to take vengeance on Darius himself, since the ruling family is usually untouchable. He had personal experience in that regard as well.

Still, it was better than nothing. And another job or two with the Hulmasters wouldn't hurt - depending on what the job actually was, of course. All of the Moonsea's settlements were starting to look the same anyways, and it wouldn't make a huge difference if one more city official was out for his head. He had to leave towns in a hurry before and could do so again. Arenar wasn't even his real last name! "Sign me up." He said with a slight smile, leaning back in his chair while carefully examining the expressions of his soon-to-be coworkers.

---

When his puns failed to defuse the obvious tension in the room, Joric had fallen into silence. No one had even acknowledged his presence, save for the Duergar who spat at him. Joric's eyes narrowed. He had heard much about the Duergar, and very little of it was good. He tried not to let that prejudice define his few interactions with them, but there was always a certain wariness in case the rumors happened to be true. And they tended to be wary as well, if not openly hostile.

But spitting when you meet someone? In someone else's home? Joric may not have been the most well mannered individual, but that was just rude.

Anyways, back to the matter at hand. He knew very little about the quest he was signing up for, but they had a map and it had something to do with undead who were disturbed by tomb raiders.

"AYE!" Joric declared with enthusiasm, a cheesy grin on his face as he slammed a fist down on the table. "I'm itching to axe those gravediggers a few questions!" He gave the battleaxe at his hip an affectionate pat.