After weeks and weeks on the great northern sea, having endured harrowing storms, freezing winds, maddening doldrums and the odd bout of sea sickness and scurvy, the call finally came down from the birds nest earlier this morning: Land! Land in sight! And there it was - the towering peaks of mountains, the deep greens of woods, and the sprawling brown blob of a city known as Kari-Mar. As the boat slowly made its way towards the wharf, more and more details became discernable. It was a big city, no doubt, but chaotic too. A myriad of buildings with differing styles and materials were squeezed together, competing for space. Most seemed poor or dirty, more shacks than houses, with islands of wealthy quarters spread somewhat evenly about. The palaces of the merchant princes stood out like sore thumbs - giant, extravagant behemoths of luxury and opulence. The wharf swam with a throng of people, from sailors and traders to thieves and courtesans. The noise was deafening compared to the stillness of the sea, a constant din and jangle in a hundred different tongues.

As the gangway is laid down, the captain gives you all a final nod off goodbye before returning to overseeing the ship. As you step ashore, a man dressed in an arming jacket and a helmet approaches you - a city guard, probably. "Welcome to Kari-Mar" he drones in a slightly disinterested voice, "Please make your way over to the harbormastery and declare your business in the city. You can find the secretaries over yonder."

He points to a series of stalls where a mob of people shove and push trying to get ahead in loosely organized queues. At the head of each queue is a table where a bored, frustrated or suspicious notary sits stationed, scribbling away as the people in front of them blabbers. Having done his duty, the guard promptly moves along to inform other arrivals of the procedure.

The city of Kari-Mar, with all of its dangers and promises, lies spread out in front of you.

---

Harth the Dwarf said his goodbyes to the captain and his wife, thanking them for their voyage and company and wishing them well in a pace that seemed uncharacteristically hasty of him. He saw the two smile as he rushed by, his stone-headed walking stick in hand (or club, if things got rowdy). Then he grunted a hearty “Heigh… HO!”, lifted his packed carrier sack onto his back, and stepped off the ship.

And -ahh, goodness of the Earth- felt solid ground under his feet again. Or rather, that’s what it should have felt like. It seemed after many weeks at sea that, even after landfall, the swaying of the ship hadn’t quite left his mind. Like the ground underneath his feet was shifting still. “Kraseawai, why is the ground still moving?!” He asked as he followed the other crew members to their -very rudely- assigned customs boxes.

“Name?” “Harth-Kazann, my pl--.” “Business of pleasure?” “Why, you tell me, I was going to say it was my pleasure, before you so rudely cut me off.” “Are you here on a business trip, or for sightseeing, luv?” “Ahh, why business then, with the dwarves of--” Do you have anything to declare?" “Hmmm, my undying devotion to the Stonefather, I suppose.” "Anything of value, exotic, or illegal?" "Well, I don't thin--" “Search his bag. And the eye. Next!”

"You know..." Harth grumbled deeply, turning to his former companions after all was said and done, carefully wiping off and putting the runed, many-sided glass bead that served as his right eye back into its socket. “I feel we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot...”

Caleb gave a quick salute to the captain as he got off the man's ship, and back onto solid land. The first thing he did was a few stretching movements that made his joints pop a little, and more audibly shifted his armor. He then looked towards the wharf proper, and first heard, then saw, the massive crowd and grimaced slightly.

The roar of the crowd was overwhelming to him, as he practically fought his way forward. He just wanted to get off this dock as quickly as he could, and away from all the constant noise. He couldn't hear the footsteps of people around him over the noise, which made him nervous and a little paranoid. He did his best to shake it off for now, but his mind kept drawing forward the notion that someone was going to try to take his gear, which made him rest his hand on the pommel of his sword to make sure it was still on his belt. He entered the rough queue, not pushing his way forward, but keeping other people from pushing past him, by either refusing to be moved, or a swift but relatively light 'accidental' strike of his elbow. Eventually, as the line moved, he was able to eventually speak with one of the notaries.

"Name?" "Caleb Derrius Evermoore III." "Business or pleasure?" "Business." "Anything you'd like to declare?" "My armor, my sword, my shield, and my boot knife." The notary looked up for a moment, surprised for a moment when they saw the man in full plate, before returning to their paperwork. It was safe to assume that he couldn't fit much between the armor and the arming doublet, and having him take it off would be more trouble than it's worth. Before they could say anything else, Caleb handed his pack to one of the customs agents for inspection, and produced his boot knife to prove it was on his person. He'd been processed before, and knew what he needed to do in order to speed things along a little bit. "Next!"

That wasn't so bad, he thought to himself as he started to move away from the throng. He was lying to himself, he absolutely hated that, but at the very least his compliance managed to speed things along a little bit. It's probably for the best that I stick around these folks for now. They seem like the kind of miscreants that might at least be able to have my back in a pinch. He then moved to meet up with the rest of the group he had arrived with, sighing in relief as he was able to make out the footsteps of the people around him again, and finally relaxing a little.

Druuk gave the captain a curt nod before leaving the ship, he was a man of few words on a good day, but having spent the previous night drinking and sparring the the tougher crew members he had found during the journey he was not in a particularly talkative mood this day. Being on solid ground again was nice, though Druuk had similar issues to Harth in that the stillness of the land felt strange. Luckily standing in a long line gave him plenty of time to readjust.

The white noise of the crowd reminded him of cheering crowds in coliseums he had fought in. It was a comforting sound, and by the time Druuk got to the front of the line he was in a slightly better mood. Only slightly. The clerk in front of him went from looking bored to rather anxious as Druuk approached. That was pretty typical, he was used to it now, if anything he was proud he could strike fear into lesser people just from his presence alone.

"Um, name?"

"Druuk."

The clerk waited a moment for a family name but Druuk stayed silent. His mother was a wonderful woman, he didn't want her name tarnished by anything he might do. "Okay, Mr. Druuk, are you here for business or pleasure," the clerk continued after a moment.

"Pleasure," out of the two options pleasure made more sense. Druuk was here to find a true fight, he had already conquered all the great fighters of his home, he needed fresh blood.

"Y-yes, of course, erm, anything to declare?"

"No." The clerk took a glance at the sword on Druuk's one side and the flail on the other before looking back at him. Druuk simply glared. "You're free to go," as Druuk left he heard a loud sigh. He simply left to join the others who he thought would make good travel companions. They had proven themselves interesting on the ship, perhaps staying with them would bring him somewhere interesting as well.

Giving the captain's two daughters a goodbye hug, Kraseawei gave the captain and his family a wave as she walked down the gang plank only to catch the guard's curt commands as he pointed to the booths across the way. On the Golden Griffin, the ship would remain anchored in the harbor as goods were ferried over on boats and barges for them to stow below deck. Only the officers and senior crew would venture ashore.

“Kraseawai, why is the ground still moving?!” the dwarf priest asked. Was that a hint of alarm she heard in his voice? Still, in his mannerisms, he reminded her of the Sisters of Photia.
"Father Harth," the sailor said, bowing her head and holding her hands up in prayer, but unable to remove the grin, "Your legs have learned the way of the sea and the shifting deck, now they must remember the way of the land and the still ground. They should remember soon enough."

Still, she frowned at the rough treatment the men at the table gave to the gruff dwarf, but the other two had little problem. As Druuk stepped past the table, she stepped forward, eyeing the man curiously. A landlubber, to be sure. She reminded her of something though. Or of someone...

"Your ah... your name?" the clerk asked, still a little rattled.

"Templar," she replied coolly. "Kraseawei Templar."
"Kra what?" he demanded incredulously.
"Kra-sea-wei," she repeated slowly. "It is the name Mother Shadeleaf gave me when they found me at the Blessed Fountain." She bowed her head respectfully, then looked up.
"Uh huh, just how do you..."
"Kay, are, ay, ess, e, ay, double-yoo, e, eye," she nodded, long used to spelling it out.
"It sounds made..." the clerk said, squirming in his seat.
"Mother Shadeleaf said it was Elvish," Kraseawei frowns, a glint in her eye harder than the jewel Father Hanth had. "Are you calling her a liar?"

"Certainly not," he stated. "Are you here for business or pleasure...?"
"Why not both?" Kraseawei shrugged, then said, "I am here to hunt monsters."
"Business, then," he said, glancing down as he scribbled that into his book, then steeled himself. "Have you anything to declare?"
"Just the tools of my trade," she replied, raising one eyebrow before lifting her seabag onto the table. "A cutlass, a dagger, my ditty bag, some spare clothes, and of course what I am wearing."

The bag was opened and poked around, but it was as she said. He stared at her, then his quill pointed at her waist. "Those pouches, what's in there?"
"What little coin I have left, and my thousand-year-old eggs."
"Your what?"
"My thousand-year-old eggs," she said, opening the other pouch and pulling out a black egg then handing it to him.

The clerk stared at it doubtfully, the shell gray where the black egg had rubbed against the sticks of chalk she kept between them.
"What's this for, do you eat them?" Despite the paint, it was clearly a chicken's egg. He handed it back, gingerly. Who knew what sort of stench might come out if one broke.
"For luck," Kraseawei replied, tucking it back inside her pouch.

He gave her a look as if to say, 'somebody saw you coming,' then scribbed down 'thousand-year-old eggs.'

"Next," he sang out, waving her past.

Ships, Lucky had thought. A genius invention. Being his first time aboard one he had learnt much about them and a little about himself. He loved everything about them except for the 'on the sea' part.
It was a long voyage for the halfling. His fortune rising and crashing like the waves they rode on. He had found no shortage of people to gamble with, the trick was prying them from their stations, duties and responsibilities.
Then of course there was also the matter of contending with the waves.
The rocking motion of the boat had left a permanent queasy feeling in his stomach, and on more than one occasion the sea had stolen a meal from him.

Despite this he laughed, drank, sung terribly, talked nonsense and tried to alleviate everyone from the burden of their coins, but now at the end of his journey as he stumbled about the near empty ship frantically collecting his gear, face looking a little green, legs a little wobbly, he noticed his coin pouch was feeling a little light. Well that's what I gets for teaching the children how to play ramshackle. He concedes with a sigh.

A fair way behind the others, lucky dice in hand, backpack filled to bursting slung over his shoulder, Lucky stumbles down the gangplank looking over the scene and city with awe. His eyes conditionally floating over the distant wealth, noticing the different paths and alleyways, analysing the flow and density of the nearby crowd.

It was the perfect conditions for one of his profession but it would be poor form to begin working right away. So he stumbled down, legs feeling a little wobbly, and enters the fray. The lines were slow moving, there was much grumbling and the others were some distance ahead. With a lean here, the right words there, a little anticipation, a lot of gentle persuasion and a dab of theatrics, Lucky came out the other end just behind his new companions. He was admiring the fit of a new pair of fine looking leather gloves as he squeezed and flexed his small nimble hands. It was so hard to find good clothes in his size. Children rarely wore things in his style, but these gloves...

He flash a wide, proud, gleaming grin at his companions that wash his sea sickness away.
"Right, so where we off to first? Anyone know where the nearest ale house be?"

As the party gathered at the far side of the harbormastery booths, surrounded on all sides by a moving sea of people, a man suddenly detached himself from the crowd and approached them. He was middle aged, with a weathered face and greying hair and beard, dressed in a leather arming jacked and sporting a sheathed sword on his hip. The man gave a nod and a smile in greetings, stopping before the group with a relaxed, confidens stance. He had a certain look in his eyes; sharp and intense, but not unfriendly.

"Greetings" he said in a raspy voice thick with the local dialect, "New to the Vale? Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Vaskandar. I am in the business of connecting people, and getting work done. Looking at you come ashore, I got the feeling that you might be in need of connections. Maybe, I said to myself, they are looking for work, or to have some done. No?"

He raised his eyebrow, giving the group an appraising look. Before anyone had time to answer, he shrugged and spread his hands. "In any case" he continued, "Let me give you a lead. There is an establishment uptown along Prince Talaris street, near the Paupers square, called Three Tails. If you are ever looking for someone or something, go there and tell the doorman Vaskandar sent you. They will help you along your way. Now, unless I can help you with anything else, I will not take up any more of your time."

He gave a courteous bow, giving the party a few moments to respond.

Caleb straightens his back a little as the man approaches them. At first he thinks the man is moving past them until he addresses the group. He seemed to be listening carefully, but it was impossible to know for sure as an outside observer. Most people can't see through steel, after all.

Caleb nods once the man finishes, resisting the urge to bow in response as he's trying to be courteous, not dramatic. "Thank you, sir." He said, trying his best to be polite. It takes him a moment to realize that those directions are gibberish to him, as he doesn't know this town. But, uptown shouldn't be hard to find, and 'Pauper's Square' sounds like somewhere that would be marked. Might take him a while few minutes to orient himself, but he could get there. At some point. Probably.

Could be a grifter. But I don't have much to lose right now, so why not? Best case scenario, I end up doing what I came here to do; kill monsters and get paid. Worst case, I get tricked and know to be wary of folks in this town. He took a moment to appraise the man's apparel. He's well-equipped. Might be a sellsword. Don't know what to make of that.

He turned back towards the rest of his new... companions? Regardless, he shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to have a look, at the least." He thought out loud.

Lucky had a habit of looking back when his attention was drawn forward. He knew more than one thieves trick that would start exactly this way. Despite his ever vigilance, he threw on a wide cheerful smile as he haughtily stepped forward between the others to greet the unknown Samaritan.

"Vaskandar." He begins, already pulling on the local dialect and tasting it as he talks. Mimicking what he had already heard. "Pleasure." He says with a small thankful bow.

"Aye, we are new. Is it that obvious?" His wide green eyes make a show of studying the local fashion like he hadn't already taken it all in and planned his next outfit. 'Blending in was not essential but standing out should always be optional' was just one of his many thieving mottos.

"Consider ya'self a local, I'd love to hear the latest gossip on the streets. To get acquainted with the happenings." He pauses in thought for a moment. "Are there any strange laws we should know about?"

After a chuckle at thoughts unsaid he carries on.

"So say we do go to this Three Tails, what sort of establishment will we find ourselves walking into and on who's property would we stand?" He asks.

Kraseawei's eyes narrowed at Vaskandar's approach. A recruiter, of course, scouting out talent no doubt on each arriving ship. The question, of course, is wondering who Vaskandar was working for. Unlikely to be an assassin working the docks - and why would he be targeting any of them? And of course, meeting up at a tavern, of all places. Never at court. Never in a meeting room in the local castle or the local guild.

Did they have guilds here?

Lucky, of course, was already pumping the man for information, while Caleb was curious.

"A tour to this tavern would be welcome," Kraseawei shrugged, her friendly smile having somehow losing its way to her eyes. "We wouldn't mind finding out more about this town and learn about the important people here, such as yourself. And, of course, how things are going deeper in the vale."

Maybe someone would try to roll them. That would be fun, she wouldn't mind a workout.

---

Harth had stuck with Caleb after his processing just as he usually did on the ship. After the stranger Vaskandar advertised the Three Tails Inn and Caleb mused the affirmative out loud, Harth "Agreed. Let’s go where there’s work to be done. Then, let's get a move on before it fills up with all these fellows here..." Then he elbow-nudged Caleb. "And some ale never did anyone any harm, eh. Figuratively speaking."

He stood up to get his stated move on, but then the sea in his head rocked the earth the other way again, and he stumbled into a barrel of salt herrings, almost knocking it over. "On second thought, maybe we should skip the ale for now. Just some good old fashioned sitting. Still, for me. Bloody boats. How do people...?" he grumbled a bit as he waited on the rest, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

Vaskandar flashed a smile as the party started asking their questions. He chuckled at Harth-Kazanns comments on ale and boats and, having listened intently, replied.

"I must confess" he said, "That I do not have the time to stay and gossip, but I will answer your questions as best I can. The latest gossip is what is always is; the bickering and scheming of the merchant princes, happenings on the roads going north and east, strange new arrivals in the harbor... You will have plenty of time getting to know more in the Three Tails. It is an inn, and a pretty good one at that. Not opulent, but homely. The host is one Zaretha, merchants daughter, and I would wager you would rather get to know her yourselves than hear me prattle on about all of her virtues."

The sudden blare of a trumpet caught Vaskandars attention, and he urged the party slightly aside before continuing. Soon after, a regiment of soldiers came marching down the dock, all polished steel and hard stares. Those not alert or fortunate enough to get out of the way in time were rudely shoved aside or beaten with sticks by the vanguard. "Principal contingent" Vaskandar explained as the soldiers marched on by, leaving a scattering of grumbling or crying townspeople in their wake, "Not a good idea to get in the way of those. As for strange laws, that's the only one you really need to adhere to: do not anger the Princes, or get in the way of their business. Life in Kari-Mar is otherwise mostly live and let live... or cutthroat, depending on who you are and where you stand, I suppose."

Taking a quick look at the sun, Vaskandar smiled and nodded, as if remembering something. He then turned back to the party, clasping his hands. "And with that, I am afraid I must take my leave of you. Should you decide to visit the Three Tails, I am certain you will get most of your questions answered. Like I said, it is just down Prince Talaris street, near the Paupers square. Perhaps we will meet again. Farewell."

With that, he took a quick bow and turned to walk. He was quickly lost in the crowd, leaving the party to their business.

"Do not anger the Princes," Kraseawei repeated under her breath, watching the enigmatic Vaskandar depart. "Good advice no matter where you are."

With a sigh, Kraseawei turns back to the others. "Well, shall we make our way to the Three Tails while we take in the city? I myself would welcome a private hot bath, food on a plate that doesn't slide around, and not having to share a room with chatty teens."

Aboard ship, you bathed with sea water in a basin, it left you feeling sorta gummy and itchy later. It would be nice to find a wizard who could craft a copper bath for a ship that could make hot water on demand in your cabin. Although no doubt the Captain's wife would be using it to scrub the clothes and boil the noodles.

Kraseawei shuddered slightly at the thought, making the golden hoop hanging from her ear tremble. Maybe if they were lucky, they'd run into some fresh food - apples that haven't been aging for weeks in a barrel, vegetables that weren't canned to preserve them, and something sweet for later.

Having spent all this time at sea, she welcomed a change.

"And," she added raising her hands in prayer as she bowed her head to address Harth, "The walk should get your land legs back."

She started slowly down the street, swaying back and forth, side to side as her own legs remembered the shifting deck, even when standing 'still'.

Caleb watched as this Principal guard left, leaving injury, fear, and heartbreak in their wake. His left hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword, so that it would just appear he was resting his hand. He was fortunate for the helmet, otherwise they would've seen his tightly clenched teeth, and a glare that was doing it's level best to kill someone. These people... what I wouldn't do for five minutes in a room alone. That's all it would take. Perhaps they need to know what it's like fighting someone outside their weight class.

Caleb glanced down, and saw that at some point, his left hand had come off the sword and now his dominant hand had come across his body and gripped the hilt of his sword, hard enough that his knuckles were white under the gauntlet. He released his grip on the hilt of his blade and took a deep breath. Better to lead with my head for now, not my heart. No matter how badly I wish to show these bastards why they shouldn't attack their own people. And maybe show these damned oligarchs why they shouldn't order their men out to assault decent folk, while I'm at it.

It wouldn't be wise to fight them here, in a city he didn't know, where all it would take is one person who's more afraid of the guard than him, or man who gets away. It'd be suicide. Unless I can justify it as helping one of my compatriots, it's better to keep my feelings... and hands... to myself for now.

"Yes... let's get out of here." He said quietly, turning towards Kraseawei. "Before I lose my temper with these glorified brigands." He muttered under his breath, unsure if the sound escaped his helmet or not. He then simply started off behind Kraseawei, assuming that she had some ideas as to where she was going, doing his best to avoid clenching his fists.

Lucky grimaced at the passing brutality of the soldiers. Vaskandar's farewell and the following conversation never found his ears for by then the halfling was already gone, having slipped off into the crowd to assist those that suffered most from the guards passing.

He hadn't much more to offer than a kind word and helping hand but he would see what he could do.
After that then he would make his way to three tails.

---

---

Live and let live... Harth was silent and leaned heavily on his stone-topped cane as he watched the soldiers march through the streets with a cold gaze. A cruel lot they were, with their steel-tipped boots and their trumpets -what a waste of good brass-. He saw the small protests of his companions. Caleb, the valiant warrior heart, Kraseawei, ever pragmatic, and Lucky -- well, Lucky had gone, so that would be something Harth would only find out when all rejoined at the Three Tails Inn.

"The Plight weighs on all..." he muttered softly, offering his own heartening, if somewhat sober thoughts. "But these townspeople are strong, that is for sure. They will persevere, but even the strongest of arches can be ground away by the river of time. And then..." It was a tale he had often heard in his long life, a tale as old as time, that one: what happened if the foundation one conducted their trade on was pushed too far, and stopped carrying their weight. It was a lesson people seemed to love to forget. "Well, perhaps these merchant princes will find out soon enough." But that was not up to them, at least for now. It was a fool's errand to take on all the weight of the world.

And so, when his companions offered to head to the Three Tails Inn, he concurred. "Aye, let's go," he said in a tone low and muted, almost as if in deference to the commotion. Then he went, his boots clomping on the cobblestones, down Prince Talaris Street and towards Pauper's Square. Admittedly with some lingering side-to-side as well, but at least the swaying did lessen as they went, just as Kraseawai had said.

Until at last they would come to the Three Tails Inn. And once there, he would ask for "Zaretha Merchants-daughter?", mentioning that Vaskandar at the harbor had recommended her.

---

The walk to the Three Tails was not a long one, and the party arrived withing not half an hour. Paupers Square was just visible down the street, sporting what looked like a market of stalls and tents, with masses of people moving in all directions. Prince Talaris street was however interesting in itself, on part of its dissonance - on one side of the street, there rose tall and well-maintained stone buildings rich with ornaments and expensive-looking stores; on the other, shacks and shanties squatted in their shadow, most built out of wood or lesser materials, with a plethora of dark and suspect alleys leading away from the main street. People of all classes mingled in the street, but there seemed almost to be an invisible line in the middle of it, which the townspeople were reluctant to cross.

The Three Tails was, to some relief, located on the wealthier side. It was a beautiful stone building with a facade of dark cross-beams and white plaster. A pretty web of rose vines climbed up the front, giving the inn an inviting and homely visage. Although the time was still around noon, there seemed to be plenty of business going on inside. People of all colors and creeds sat or stood at tables and along the walls, eating and drinking and conversing, with maids and pages scurrying to and fro as they took and delivered orders. Moving among them was an impressive woman, seemingly a matron of sorts, checking in on customers and generally overseeing things. She was tall and strong-looking with a bakers build, long flowing auburn hair, fair skin and hazel eyes. Being approached by a trio of travellers, she nodded with a smile and showed them to a room in the back of the hall, where the four of them disappeared from view.

A bouncer stood by the door, wearing a sleeveless ring mail harness and a thoughtful frown. What he lacked in hight he more than enough made up for in width, having the imposing body type that combined obesity and muscularity in the same form - his arms in particular looked like the kind of tree trunks that'd put sweat on the brow of a practiced woodsman. The well oiled and rather large cudgel hanging from his belt effectively advertised his position of bouncer, an impressive ammount of notches on the handle and all, and he seemed to be quickly but thoroughly explaining the rules of the house to potential guests before allowing them inside. Perceptive observers would notice that while he sometimes initially turned a few people down, he would sometimes relent after a few coins passed between them. He seemed to be a man used to underhandedness, as he didn't seem to be all that nervous about it, or even hide it much. He shot the party a quick gaze as they looked at him, but went about his business just as quick.

Caleb walked through the street, taking in the disparity between wealthy and poor on Price Talaris street. It was a little jarring to say the least, though from what he's seen, this sight one sight all but perfectly encapsulated the city in his mind.

As they approached the Three Tales Inn, Caleb, once he say that there was no ongoing altercations inside the inn, held the door for the others in their little impromptu retinue. He bowed slightly as he gestured for the others to enter ahead of him. Never hurts to be polite. Especially when I don't know how long I'll be with these people. By the time he entered, he had just enough time to notice the matron, Zarethea, enter the back room. Not wanting to interrupt her business, but also not wanting to be waiting all day, he simply walked over towards the bouncer.

He spared himself a moment to eye up the bouncer. Well, clearly someone here gets paid well. I wonder what a place like this would need a man like that for. In my experience, most men paid to break up bar fights don't wear armor. He them approached the man by the door, in as non-threatening a manner as he could manage, speaking softly, but his manner of speaking was very clear and his tone we certain, to a point where it seemed almost official. "We were told that the fine woman who owns this establishment might have some work for folk like us. A gentleman by the name of Vaskander sent us this way. Would it be possible for you to point her our way once she's done with her current business?" He paused for a moment, his gaze slowly drawing towards the man's cudgel, his tone dropping to a fare more casual one, but not adjusting his volume. "It's good to see someone who cares for their equipment. I've seen too many who take their tools for granted."

@Bacon
Ozza, the bouncer, halted the party as they were about to enter the establishment by raising a meaty palm in their way. He gave them a quick glance from head to toe, as if taking their measure, then rolled his shoulders and stuck his thumbs in his belt. "Greetings, my lords and ladies, and welcome to the Three Tails tavern" he said, "We offer food and drink for the hungry and thirsty, and lodgings for the weary, for a very reasonable price. As guests under our host Zarethas roof, you're expected to behave yourself and stay out of trouble. And no fiddling with the maids and pages. It's the lady hosts say that goes in here, and mine. As long as you can abide by that, and pay what you owe, you're all very welcome to stay. Alright, in you go."

As the armored fellow walked up to him, Ozza raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't move. Peculiar thing, wearing a full helmet like that in broad daylight and outside of battle, but Ozza wasn't one to judge. Every man has his reasons, after all, and he'd seen plenty stranger still in his days as a bouncer. Besides, his body language seemed timid enough, so there probably wasn't anything to worry about. Probably. "Vaskandar, huh?" he replied, allowing himself a small smile and quiet chuckle, "Picked you right off the harbor, didn't he? He's got an eye for that sort of thing, he does. Aye, the mistress should have work for you lot, if you're the type Vaskandar'd send our way. If you don't mind staying a while, I'll have a page fetch you once the mistress has concluded her present business. Have a drink on the house, why don't you? Tell 'em Ozza said so."

He looked down at his cudgel as Caleb complimented it, tapping the handle with a thick finger. "Aye" he said, "This old bugger has seen me through some rough times, all right. It's only fair I see to it every once in a while in return, right? You a fighting man, sir?"

"Drinks," Kraseawei grins. "Always a good start."

The half-elf turns and makes her way to the bar, flagging down the bartender.
"Ozza said to give us a drink on the house, I'd love a small sherry, thank you."

Glancing back at the others, she shakes her head. "C'mon, don't be shy. It's a hospitality thing."

Just who was this mistress and what work might she have for them, she wondered. Hopefully it paid well.