Jhank the Lizardfolk Smithy - 12 Einkil Torunn the Hill Dwarf Brewer - 10 Karlin Vicorin the Half Elf Bookkeep - 10 Bartholomew Strongheart the Human Tavernkeep - 10 Dreeda Brom - 10
Initiative:
Bartholomew Strongheart the Human Tavernkeep -# +2 Karlin Vicorin the Half Elf Bookkeep - 0 Jhank the Lizardfolk Smithy - 0 Einkil Torunn the Hill Dwarf Brewer - 0 Dreeda Brom - 0
Quests:
Main Questline: ??? Something involving 300 Wands and the Mage's Guild. Rewards include 1000gp
Post Archive:
A strange dwarf has arrived in the town of Swampmuck during the Harvest Festival. Einkel won over the new acquaintance with his fine whiskey as Dreeda headed over to check out Ye Olde 'Magic' Bookstore. Jhank approached the Dwarf's cart, suspicious of adventurer types. Meanwhile, Bartholomew and his brother Gabriel paid his respects to his late father Horatio's grave. Afterwards, Bartholomew joined Einkel and Theldrick in a drink. Bartholomew, Jhank, Einkel and Theldrick sit together in Theldrick's cart as the strange dwarf starts to explain his purpose in Swampmuck. Einkel gives Bartholomew some absinthe as a prize for the Adamant Tankard's drinking contest and Bartholomew is deeply grateful, offering Einkel free hog roasts for the foreseeable future.
The sleepy town of Swampmuck was the leper of the civilised world, though it's inhabitants were blissfully unaware of how ill-received their little home was, given that few of them had ever ventured beyond it's reaches and knew no better. They did not know that the stench drifting off the swamp when the wind was cruel was a foul one. They did not know they lived in squalor even compared to other villages, and they did not know that bread was more of a staple food then turnips were, given that that was what Swampmuck mostly farmed and mostly ate.
Today was different though. Today was the second day of the Harvest Festival, where folks as far as Middlemarket might mistakenly wander into Swampmuck's reaches and actually enjoy themselves. Stalls of all shapes and sizes lined the streets, covered in brightly coloured cloth that caught the midmorning sun. Voices called through the square, advertising their wares and challenging folks to play carnival games. Beneath the hubbub, laughter and chatter bubbled up like the soft lapping of waves on the shore. It was homely. Everyone was having a good time.
"Behold! Mr Marvelous' Majestic Monsters! Come and see for yourself some of the greatest, most dangerous beasts of the land..." "Dunk the goblin win a prize! Step right up! Give the nasty beast a bath!" "Metor Strongman challenge you! Wee wussy folk no beat Metor! Test your strength!" barralled a booming laugh. "The judging of the Prized Vegetable competition will begin shortly..."
Villagefolk and travellers wandered to and fro among the stalls, holding dusted turnips on sticks and bartering with traders. Overlooking the town square, The Adamant Tankard was bustling with activity, as folks booked up rooms or popped in for a quick drink and a meal. Across the way sat the forge and Ye Olde 'Magic' Bookstore, both of which had seen good business in the day previous. The streets teamed with people, and right bang in the middle of it all, a Dwarf quietly finished setting up his cart.
He was a little late to set up for the festival, but his dusty, worn, high quality clothes told of a long journey from distant lands. His cart sat slap dab in the middle of the Town Square, and villagers parted like waves to wander around him, avoiding his gaze. Two fine horses pulled his cart, one midnight and one chestnut in colour, and they rested quite happily in their harnesses. He pulled a hammer from his belt and with a few good loud THWAKs the sign he had brought with him was planted firmly in the ground, stating his business here.
Einkel Torunn wandered through the busy streets of the bustling town. Given his rose-red cheeks and cheerful demeanor, most folks new what he was about. Some approached of their own accord, others called him over. A very few-mostly tourists-he approached of his own accord. What he proffered was his latest batch of spirits, a thick liquid of a dark blue tent, made from a harvest of wild blue berries. Seemed popular around the town, though that could very well be because it was free booze during a festival.
It wasn't long before Einkel caught wind of the dwarf setting up shop in the middle of town. With a big smile on his face, he made his way over. Holding out his hands, he approached the newest dwarf to town, speaking loudly in his native Dwarven to be heard. "What happy days these are!" He said, grasping the hand of the new dwarf. "I have laid neither hide nor beard on a fellow of my kinsfolk in near on ten years. So good it is to see a kinsmen. Come, cousin, let us share a drink!
After giving a firm handshake, Einkel reached into his backpack and produced a bottle containing a glistening, amber liquid. A fine whiskey, aged no less than twenty years in an apple wood keg, he had planned to offer it as a prize in a drinking contest at the Adamant Tankard. As he pulled away the cork, breaking the wax seal on one of only two glass bottles he owned, his plan had completely gone from his head.
An aroma of stewed apples and fresh grain would drift from the bottle, the strong scent of hard alcohol cutting through the local air. Chuckling to himself, Einkel would draw forth a set of ceramic cups. Filling both to the brim, he would offer one to his kinsman, as he took in the scent of his own fine work. "Oh cousin, he began, once more in Dwarven. "I have not had call to drink a bottle this fine in many years. Truly, this day do the Gods smile on me!"
Unlike the other businesses in the area, Jhank's forge was quiet, and peaceful this time of year. He was planning to have a nice, long, deserved rest, and probably trying his hand at making plate armor later, but that all changed when he heard a rather loud THUNK coming from outside. The noise roused Jhank from his sleep, and almost caused him to hit his head on the lower shelf as he bolted awake. He then cautiously walked out of his shop to see what made a sound that loud, only to see a sign, and two dwarves... one of which, he identified as Einkel. Jhank headed towards the two, but decided to wait his turn to speak, while also realizing that with Einkel being the one talking, it would most likely be a while. While he was waiting, he decided to take in the scenery of the festival... there were orange, yellow, and brown decorations dotting the usual town plaza, there were visitors from almost everywhere, with all sorts of people, ranging from elves and humans to even a kobold or two trying to hide as a couple of halflings. The outsiders at the festival probably meant that he'd be asked the same questions by the ones that weren't outright disgusted by his appearance... 'Why do you live HERE?' and 'Don't you have a tribe you could live in?' to which, he was prepared to answer, in order 'Because Swampmuck was the first town to accept me,' and 'No, I don't,'.
The smells around the place reminded Jhank that summer was already over, and the temperature would likely go down from here on out... it was times like these that he wished he had room to put his forge indoors... but if he did that, he'd likely have to remove his bed, and there was NO way you could convince him to sleep outside during the fall or winter months. After this festival was over, Jhank would have to prepare his home for the colder temperatures, even if they didn't seem too cold to outsiders, or even most other people in Swampmuck, they were certainly cold for him... then again, depending on what the outsider dwarf had to say, he might not have to prepare anything, after all, the sign promised adventure, as well as gold, so perhaps he'd be in a warmer place once winter hit... or maybe not since Swampmuck was pretty far down south, and further north would just be colder.
The dwarf turned his head, looking around for the owner of the voice before a big grin crossed his face. "Ten years? must be a quiet life! Come here, brother. What clan do you hail from?" He met Einkel's handshake with a firm, warm grip of his own, and as Einkel searched his pack, the travelling dwarf turned to release the hatch on the back of the cart. He clambered up, sweeped a few things out the way, and sat down, motioning to the seat beside him. The cart was a bit messy, with a few barrels and a chest lining one side and a collection of sacks, parchment and oddities strewn across the rest of the vehicle.
"You're too kind! What I would give for a good drink right now." The dwarf rubbed his hands together in anticipation, but stopped as his eyes grew wide. He gave a sharp intake of breath. "By Gear's beard, it's beautiful. I haven't had a drink in days and you offer this sweet ambrosia? You're a good man." he took the ceramic cup gently and lifted it towards the other. "To new friendships!" As he spoke, he saw a gray mass out of the corner of his eye, and whipped his head round, finding himself staring at the lizardfolk. "My god, how long have you been there?" he exclaimed in Dwarven, the hand containing the cup starting to tilt dangerously. His other hand rummaged in a pocket, pulling out a thick glass lens on a silver chain. He absently placed it over his eye, leaning over the side of cart and staring at Jhank. He looked down the street. He looked round the square. And then he scratched his chin, looking the Lizardfolk up and down.
"Never seen one of you up close before. Tell me, do you have to do anything specific to keep those scales of yours in good order?" he babbled excitedly in common, his cup in very immediate danger of tipping.
In a quiet corner of Swampmuck, two men respectfully made their way around the graves that made up the town cemetery. One of them was a tall and impressively burly human with a black curly mustache and short black hair. His name was Bartholomew Strongheart and the man he was walking with was his adopted aasimar uncle, Gabriel Strongheart. Gabriel was average in height by the standard of his race, but standing next to Bartholomew and no one else made him look shorter than he truly was. He was clean shaven and had long white hair. And though he was reaching the time of his life that people knew as the middle age, he showed few notable signs of it.
Bartholomew and Gabriel eventually came to a stop on front of a grave surrounded by small offerings and bowed their heads respectfully to it before laying down offerings of their own. The name Horatio Strongheart was carved into the headstone, marking the final resting place of Bartholomew's father, Gabriel's adoptive brother, and the previous innkeeper of the Adamant Tankard. The two men stood there for some time. Even though it had been 5 years since the night Horatio died, many people who knew him, his family especially, still felt the pain of his loss. He had been a dear friend to everyone who lived in Swampmuck. And a loving father, husband, brother, and uncle to his family. Even if they were only family by adoption.
"I wonder what he'd say to us all if he were still around" Bartholomew finally broke the silence. "He'd probably tell me that I need to come visit more often, as he always did when I came by for my yearly visit" Gabriel said "I should probably consider taking that advice". "Definitely" Bartholomew agreed "We don't see you nearly as much as we'd like to. Should you ever find the time to visit us, we'll always have a place ready for you at the Tankard". "Don't deny anyone else a room because you're keeping one for me though" Gabriel said "I'd feel bad if I knew someone couldn't get a room because of me". "Don't worry, I wont" Bartholomew promised. "I think we've bothered Horatio enough for one day" Gabriel said "Let's go enjoy the festival" "Indeed" Bartholomew said as they began making their way out of the cemetery "I believe you be spending much of the day with my sister and cousin". "Yes, Matilda and Sophie were very insistent on hearing about my latest adventures" Gabriel confirmed. "I wish you luck with them" Bartholomew laughed. "I'll do by best" Gabriel said.
Bartholomew and Gabriel parted ways at the Tankard. Now alone, Bartholomew wandered around the festival, looking about for something to do. His attention was soon caught by the booming laughter Metor Strongman and his challenge to the 'Wee wussy folk' of Swampmuck. "He still thinks that does he?" Bartholomew said to himself "Even though the running total between us is 5 all? I'll have to change that". Bartholomew began to walk in the direction of Metor's booming laughter but stopped when he noticed an unfamiliar face in the crowd, along with his intriguing sign, and the two familiar faces speaking with the unfamiliar one. "Metor can wait" Bartholomew said to himself "There's a new friend to be made, and maybe even an adventure to be had".
Bartholomew made his way over to where Einkel, Jhank, and the dwarven stranger were standing. "Ho there stranger!" Bartholomew called out to the dwarf "I apologise for interrupting you, but you're about to spill your drink". Not wanting to interrupt any further, Bartholomew turned to Einkel. "Might I have a cup of that as well?" Bartholomew asked.
Dreeda was grumbling at themselves as the they walked away from the "Ignorant fool" who were subjecting their distant genetic kin to being "humiliated" with the dunk tank. "I'm no monster... Prick..." Dreeda growled as they walked through the town square, changing their demeanor for the better. For the sixteen years that Dreeda had lived in Swampmuck, their home never looked as beautiful as it did during the harvest festival, at least in their eyes. Dreeda would wonder through the village, admiring the scene before having their eyes catch the curious visiting dwarf. Dreeda would study him from a distance before waving a dismissive and and continuing to the magic bookstore . "Why would anyone ever want to become an adventure? Those lunatics do nothing but put their lives in danger, simply for the greedy prospect of loot and Fame..." Dreeda would approach the bookshop, stepping in eagerly. "Top of the morn'in to ya, hope you're getting plenty of business with this festival and all" she would call out as she stepped in. Dreeda would walk amongst the shelves, looking at every spine and novel. "Adventuring is just foolish..."
"Clan Torunn, of the local hills. I'm the last of a litter that's since scattered to the wind." He would say in answer to the man, as he poured their drinks. His clan was, to his knowledge, a small one of little note. Being a hill dwarf, and reared by the very person who taught him his trade, Einkel cared very little what his clan's name meant beyond the boarders of his home.
He had not lied when he said it had been some time since he had tasted such a bottle. The flavor and pleasant sting it left behind was as much the joy as he had known it would be, and a fair bit more. Though proud of his product, Einkel always let his drink speak for itself, and was quick to take to his own cup while his new friend enjoyed the aroma and color.
As expected, such sweet nectar quickly drew others to them, or so Einkel would believe. When he turned from his cup and looked up, though, he was pleasantly surprised to spot a pair of familiar faces. "O', ye geh sick o' tha' swill ye shill tah these pour town folk, have ye?" He would exclaim to the large man, a wide grin quickly overtaking what little semblance of a serious expression he could put on. With a laugh, he would hand Bartholomew his own glass, filling it once more. It had become empty faster than he had expected when he drunk from it, but the tipsy dwarf was always happy to share a drink with a friend.
"'Och, tis tha' sweetest bottle I've 'ad in near ah month. Lucky I am, indeed, tah stumble on an occasion tah enjoy such ah trait!" Though he spoke very proper dwarven, Einkel's accent was thicker than most, and tended to get worse when he was drunk. Few people actually realized this, of course, as he was very rarely not drunk. In general, though, he was actually a quiet man. Prone to visual displays to others to carry his meaning. As exampled when he gave a cheerful nod and a wave to Jhank, the local smith. While they weren't exactly close, there were few others he trusted to put an edge to his axe. Most dwarves would, of course, prefer to do such things themselves. However, Einkel's hands were rarely so steady.
"Torunn eh? Not familliar. But you seem a gracious folk. I'm Theldrik Bronzebones though the clan's happily in the hands of the next generation now. My job's mostly to embaress them these days with my undrawfenly behaviour." He snuck Einkil a wink before finally taking a good long swig of the whiskey offered at Bartholomew's request.
His face softened considerably as he examined the glass of delicious liquid before him with a glint of wonderment. "Now that's a fine drink I wouldn't be expectin' to find in a Swamp." he mumbled in Dwarven to himself, his voice dropping low. He regarded Einkil with a more serious respect for a moment. "Where'd ya get a fine thing like this in Swampmuck then? Am I missing out staying up North?"
His eyes turned to the hulking behemoth of the Innkeeper, and he attempted to clap him on the shoulder in grattitude, but could only quite reach his arm. "My thanks! It would of been more then a sore shame to miss out on this ambrosia. Why don't you hop up on the cart with us and chat for a moment? You look exactly like the type of person I'm looking for." His eye flicked to the Lizardfolk meaningfully, "There's room up here for 4 easily if you'd like to join us as well?"
Possible Rolls: Insight may flesh out more of his motives. Persuasion may lead to more information about his family. (Note: this list is not exhaustive, feel free to request skillrolls and include your goal for them)
Bartholomew smiled gratefully at Einkel when he passed a cup. "Cheers!" Bartholomew said as he raised the glass. Bartholomew then took a drink and nodded approvingly as he savored the taste before finally swallowing. "Quality stuff, Einkel" Bartholomew said "If the brew you plan on supplying as a prize for tonight's drinking contest at the Tankard is as good as this, I just might have to enter myself". Bartholomew then smiled at Theldrick's invitation to join him on the cart. "Don't mind if I do" Bartholomew said as he moved around to the back of the cart and hoisted himself up. "So you're looking for adventurers then?" Bartholomew asked as he occupied an empty seat "What might I ask are you looking for adventurers for?".
The three of them all took a drink, and they all seemed to enjoy it. Good for them, though I've always wondered why people enjoy drinking stuff that makes them dumber. Jhank thought to himself as he continued to wait. If there was one thing he was, it was patient. Soon enough, the new dwarf invited the others to start adventuring, apparently needing someone just like us. Odd, but Jhank always wanted to adventure around the place, and if he did, he might eventually be accepted into his old clan... then again, no, he's already made enough friends here, and everyone there shunned him. Even if they let him in, he wouldn't abandon his hometown. Of course, adventuring offered a few more benefits than that, so Jhank headed in after the dwarf eyed him with what he assumed was suspicion. Don't suppose he's ever seen a shunned lizardman, before... ah, well. Jhank thought as he headed in after the other two. He would have been angrier at the dwarf for that look, but then he remembered that the townsfolk were all just as suspicious of him at first, as well. People usually are, and Jahnk figured it had something to do with what he was... perhaps normal lizardfolk weren't quite so peaceful towards humans, and human-like creatures. I wonder what in the world someone like him would need people like us for, though... considering his robes, perhaps something magical. I just hope I don't get turned into a frog because of this. he thought as he followed the others, still kind of just politely waiting his turn to speak, as he knew from experience that people didn't like it when you either interrupted them, or spoke out of turn... though, normally, it was only the guards that didn't like the latter, Jhank wasn't about to take any chances, here.
Einkel smiled at the compliment. He had never been one to judge a person by their race, but somehow he always felt more validated by the appraisal of his work from a dwarf. Given how few came through town, such praise was almost as rare a treat as the bottle he was sharing amongst his friends. "Believe it or not, but it is my own brew. Made from grain grown in this very swamp, and aged in barrels crafted by my clan. Standing before you now is the Torunn family brew master; Not that the title has ever done me good."
With a laugh, he turned back to look at the bottle. What he was serving was meant to be a sipping whiskey, a rare treat enjoyed tastes at a time. In his excitement, though, he had already poured out fully half of the bottle's contents. Something about seeing that half empty bottle tickled his memory, though his mind seemed too clouded by spirits to quite grasp what was so important. That is, until he finally considered what Bartholomew had said to him.
The contest, of course! This bottle had been meant as a prize. Looking at it now, he realized he could hardly offer it up now. The seal had been broken, and better than half of it was gone. Not to mention, he had yet to serve all those present, a clan tradition he felt important to adhere to. Thinking about it, though he was loathed to admit it, there was only rightly one option left to him now.
Reaching into his pack, he produced the only other glass bottle he owned. Inside, there was a liquid of a deep, vivid green. Turning it in the sunlight, he let the glass catch the rays, and the entire bottle shined like a finely cut emerald. "Thar shay es, Bartholomew! Ah prize worthy o' ah kang's own fortune." He said, his voice wavering a little at the end. This was not what the bottle was meant to be for, but Einkel would rather take off his own arm than betray the trust of a friend.
With a grateful nod, Bartholomew took the finely crafted bottle Einkel had produced and examined it thoroughly in an attempt to determine the quality of the bottle's contents without tasting it. Moments later, his eyes widened and his brows rose as high as they could as his examination yielded result he had not been expecting in the slightest. Having worked at the Tankard for as long as he could remember, Bartholomew could confidently say that he knew his alcohol like the back of his hand. Which was why Bartholomew was more than willing to bet anything that the contents of the bottle he'd received from Einkel was something special. Bartholomew's eyes moved from the sealed bottle in his hands to the opened, half empty bottle of whiskey that Einkel was sharing out among them. The drink fit for a king that Einkel had produced, the sipping whiskey he had shared with everyone, and the slight waver in his voice as he gave the sealed bottle away was more than enough to clue Bartholomew into what exactly had happened and why he'd received a better drink than expected from Einkel.
An immense smile formed upon Bartholomew's face as he placed a hand on Einkel's shoulder while putting the sealed bottle to one side for a moment to dig through the pouch strapped to his belt. "Einkel Torunn" Bartholomew said "I have many friends in this town and beyond. But today, you've proven that I'd be hard pressed to find a truer friend than you". Bartholomew's hand emerged from his belt pouch as he finished speaking, having fished out 10 gold pieces which he then handed over to Einkel. "I don't have enough coin to provide the king's fortune this is worth" Bartholomew continued "But I do have enough coin to provide you with double the payment I had promised you previously. And I can also tell you that from this day on, you needn't worry about not being able to pay for the Tankard's hog roast any time soon. I hope you deem that satisfactory payment. Even if it pales in comparison to the true value of what you have given me".
"So you're looking for adventurers then? What might I ask are you looking for adventurers for?"
"All considering, it's not the most dangerous work. I don't even need anyone with adventuring experience really. Just people who aren't of too delicate a constitution and can knuckle down and get a job done, you see." He reached over and patted an inoculous oak barrel standing down one side of the cart, nestled among the rest of his ecclectic mix of junk. His expression softened for a long moment. Snapping out of it, Theldrick looked between Einkel and Bartholomew. He decided to give them a moment to themselves and gestured to Jhank, his eyes bright.
"I don't suppose you know anything about magic? I heard there are all sorts of lizardfolk clans who have a wide variety of practices. Quite unusual ones too. I have to say, I've never had the best knack for it, but I've always been fascinated by it. It's a mysterious beast, magic. This here is our latest and most ambitious project."
He looked around the cart at the mix of Swampmuck villagers, a grin spreading across his face. "I'm looking for a group of good people such as yourselves to test out 300 Wands of Magic Missile for the Mage's Guild. It's not the most glamorous work and it comes with it's own challenges, and we know that." He looked across the village square, and leaned in, his voice quieting. "The payment is 1000 gold pieces upon completion of the work. What do you think of that? Not everyday I get to make that sort of offer, let me tell you." Theldrick's eyes sparkled, though it might of been the touch of the booze.
Example Rolls: Perception may give you more information about the environment. Insight may flesh out more of Theldrick's motives. Persuasion may lead to more information about his background. (Note: this list is not exhaustive, feel free to request skillrolls and include your goal for them)
Bartholomew raised an eyebrow as Theldrik declared that he would be paying them 1000 gold pieces to do something as simple as test out a barrel of wands. Now Bartholomew wasn't the most intelligent man in Swampmuck and he knew it, but he had enough wisdom enough to know that you don't pay people 1000 gold pieces to do something you could do yourself for free unless you had a really good reason. "1000 gold pieces" Bartholomew said "That's certainly a large amount, Theldrik. Especially for so simple a job that you could get done for free if you did it yourself. Is there any particular reason why you're paying so much for this, friend? I believe you when you say this task is not dangerous, but I'm wondering if there's anything else we aught to know about what you're willing to part with such a vast sum to have other people do". As Bartholomew spoke, his face remained friendly where other faces would have turned suspicious and his voice remained jovial where other voices would have turned wary. Bartholomew wasn't suspicious of Theldrik's offer. He was perplexed by the fact that the dwarf was seemingly overpaying for a service by an alarming degree.
Einkel took the coin offered to him. He would not have pushed for an increase in pay, but he was in no position to turn down the offer. Truth be told, that bottle would have sold for enough coin to hold him over through the winter months, when the swamp yielded the least for him to harvest. Hopefully Bartholomew meant his offer, as Einkel would likely be making those hog roasts a staple of his diet.
"Och, Bartholomew, tis men like ye tha' make et asay tah be a good mahn. Oh," he continued, a thought coming to mind. "Ye may want tah get tha Tankward ready for a bigger crood. Soon as ward get oot tha' the preeze this year ez-" Abruptly, he was cut off, as a young boy-or perhaps a grown halfling-went racing away from their group. The short fellow began shouting, explaining as loud as he could, that the prize for the Tankard's contest was a bottle of the Emerald Fairy.
'So, a halfling, then.' Einkel thought to himself. As expected, people took notice, and it was hard indeed to miss the large bartender holding a bottle that shone like a gemstone in the daylight. Within minutes, nearly every merchant offering to make trades was excusing themselves, putting up 'back soon' signs and racing each other to get to the bar. Einkel had known that this particular spirit was quite coveted among the merchants that came to the harvest festival from out of town, but it only dawned on him now that perhaps it was worth more than he had been selling it for. By the size of the line forming out of the Tankard's entrance, something told him he should get his 'business partner' to look into how much those bottles had been selling for once they left Swampmuck.
"Wait, a thousand gold?" he asked in dwarven, once more addressing his new friend. It was a little rude to talk like that among a mixed crowd, and he knew it, but it felt too good to speak his native tongue not too. " Split between us, that would be over three hundred gold each. With money like that, I could afford a second still. Might even have enough to hire an apprentice. And all for waving around some wands? Well, you can count me up for the job." There he stood, hand held out to seal the deal, a big smile wide on his face.
