Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Rain continued in the lighter manner it had been for the last couple of hours. The sun had yet to make a formal appearance, thanks to the dramatic and foreboding cloud cover. A rumble of light thunder could be heard, distant enough not to pose much worry yet present enough to make itself known. Whether it was incoming or outgoing remained to be seen.

Time: It is afternoon. By this time, it would not be out of place to say mid-afternoon.

Ambience: The weather had not improved, nor had the temperature. The former still made profound influence on the latter, and any not dressed accordingly or with other means of staving off the elements would be feeling the effects of autumnal rain. The streets more vaguely resembled an abandoned settlement, except for the light which spilled out from slat-shuttered windows or the subtle glow of illumination behind curtains. There was life, and plenty of it, in Avonshire. None of it wished to draw attention to itself, it seemed. Displays of fun and frolic stood where they did the previous day, dripping with precipitation. It gave a lonely, forgotten feel, one tinged with the promise of uncertain peril which was slowly revealing itself.

*****

Jacques Mallard, Silversmith

"What part of 'close the door behind you' was hard to understand?" growled Jacques, lowering his still loaded crossbow to point at the floor as he brushed past Marita and Victoria. The words of the two adventurers who spoke through the open portal were seemingly ignored as he slammed the door shut. Realizing that he could not effectively heft the thick, wooden bar to the door one-handed, he set the crossbow down on the same storage box which held his silver "test" implements. Tired, red-rimmed eyes turned to scrutinize the two women now in his place of business.

"Alright.... okay.... alright. NOW," he finally said, some sense of social decorum coming to him, tarnished though it was. His words hinted at mania; scattered thoughts coming from a mind that held many concerns at once. "Bob. Bob's a good man. Neil was okay, too. But he's not around. BOB - decent fellow. Damn shame what happened." Mr. Mallard removed the bolt from his weapon and eased the tension on its line, bringing both back to the counter which dominated the majority of the space in his building. "I think, yes, I believe we can risk a little light. Your friends out there are doing enough to let people know I'm in here anyway so..." A lamp was produced from a nearby stand, its wick lit from a taper which was ignited from the flameless, glowing plate underneath the small pot forge in the room. It provided more adequate light, which in turn gave a better look at the surroundings.

It was difficult to place this as a silversmith's shop at casual glance. There were a small number of simple weapons on the counter and the only place silver goods were kept was on display near the windows - themselves boarded up as if expecting trouble or an extended absence. A low cabinet and table near the back door held curious items; a map and a collection of old papers, what appeared to be a goat skull, an important looking book, and a collection of inks with other sundries, not to mention a couple empty bottles of what might have once held hard liquor, if the half-full one next to it was any indication. Behind the counter was a couch that looked like it had been slept upon, as indicated by the more domestic pillow toward one end and blanket laid haphazardly across the back of it. The pot forge was openly active. Its mysterious heat source kept a moderate amount of metal in a semi-solid, malleable state and made the interior of this place quite comfortable, even at a distance. A very specific set of tools lay nearby, along with a few spools of fine, white metal wire.

"...everywhere, scurrying around with their scratching feet and..." he muttered, stepping over to his small workstation. "Good Robert has friends. He's been through enough. Okay, so, you know, right? You know? Tell me what - " Jacques stopped himself before changing his line of speech. "Don't know who to trust anymore. You see someone acting squirrely and... your friend out there... They could be anyone. Can't draw too much attention until after the Harvestide. Anyway, Bob's order isn't quite done yet. Just a few more minutes. Please, have a seat if you want." A jerky motion indicated the couch behind the counter.

The silversmith sat at a high stool and produced two sets of manacles. They were connected by chains and looked perfectly serviceable to keep one restrained for a long period of time at the wrists and ankles. A bundle of wire from near the spools was likewise hauled over, from this he unwound a length of braided metal for his immediate use. "So," Jacques started, "It doesn't take that many of you of fetch a package. Before I go telling you my story, why don't you tell me one first?" He picked up a device which resembled an inscribing tool and began forming lines on the interior surface of a manacle. A minuscule wisp of smoke carried up from the metal as drops of molten iron fell into an oiled catch bowl. The braided wire was carefully placed into the resulting groove as he went along. "Gift from my uncle," offered Jacques. "He specialized in silver inlays."

*****

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed after the door slammed shut, but minutes can feel like hours if you're waiting in the rain. Luckily it wasn't that awful anymore. But very few people, given a free and open choice, would voluntarily stand in the rain for no reason if better options were available. No screaming was evident immediately following, which might have been taken as a good sign. Another peal of thunder, still low and far, followed a brief brightening of the sky as electricity discharged in the clouds but did not seem to make it to the ground.

This stillness, this quiet (aside from the steady white noise of the falling rain) was interrupted by the sound of someone whistling just up the road. It was not a short, sharp noise to gather attention in the slightest. Quite differently, it was a flowing and merry tune that might have found a home at a tavern late at night. Jolly, even. The source of this music came into view with confident, leisurely steps. Rain-soaked clothing hung about the square shoulders of the Township Constable, Cavendish, approached openly, with two of the Township's guard flanking him. The man carried his hammer openly as if expecting to utilize it in some endeavor which probably did not involve pounding in tent stakes. Cavendish's eyes darted about for a moment, taking in the whole scene before the whistling stopped. From his distance, he called out, "Fancy running into you two here. And you found a new friend. That's just adorable." A smarmy grin split his face, "Don't stop playing in the rain on my account. Go ahead, you stomp in some puddles, little girl. I'm not here for you right now." The three of them continue advancing on the scene with the Constable's eyes darting up every so often. "I'm here to arrest the silversmith. I hope he puts up a fight. Move aside."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Silversmith's Shop Action: Persuasion (A), Investigation Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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Victoria blew out a profound exhalation and composed her face, committing to just the right amount of positivity mixed with businesslike determination. She wished that there was an opportunity to touch up her face in a way that didn't involve utilizing a cantrip, but that was just not in the cards. In the end, she decided not to go with either, hoping that her weather-touched features would make her seem more genuine. The approach to the door brought with it the final few seconds for her to summarize the angle of approach she wished to use. Social engagement was close to its own sort of combat, especially if one wanted something. And they certainly wanted something. Information was as important on a field of battle as was steel, or magic, or boots on the ground. Not to mention that, if they were correct about the nature of the threat in this township, the paranoid man's silver would be a valuable asset as well.

The Bard had her game face on by the time Marita slipped the note under the door. When the suggestion was made that she should disarm as well, Victoria responded with a cheerful, smiling, "Not a chance in any of the Nine Hells." Unless prompted to give up her sword, Victoria had no intention of giving up her sword. Spells might be interrupted, but a stabbing didn't require much in the way of concentration in a pinch. She did concede a portion of the point made, unbuckling her sword belt and holding it off to one side instead of abandoning it altogether. Along a similar mindset, she issued a mental command to her animated swine, prompting it to stand under the building's roof overhang.

The "invitation" to enter was answered promptly and confidently by Victoria, striding in with her still sheathed sword out to one side. She frowned at the presence of the loaded crossbow and tried not to let the annoyance of it show on her face. Instead, she reached out to take up the bracelet chain, stating, "A wise precaution, Mr. Mallard," in an earnest tone. She was about to continue when Kathryn spoke up from outside and moved closer to return the ring. V was unsure as to whether this was a good idea, even though it looked like the silversmith had just called Kathryn out for her transgression. Again, the cheery Half-Elf spoke up, "We are not thieves. And we shall comply, of course." She delicately placed the end of the chain top the tip of her tongue and held it for a moment, then set it back down.

"As my associate declared outside, we are here on Robert's behalf. He was quite adamant that his purchase be delivered before nightfall. Ah, may I..?" Victoria made a gesture as to imply lowering her hands and relaxing somewhat, continuing with more than a twinge of emotion behind her words, "The crossbow is unnecessary, sir. We are here to help. We were sent here to help by Sheriff Gregory. Now, if you want nothing to do with what is going on here, fine. I wouldn't blame you at all. We will take Robert's commission and quietly leave." She nodded slowly, taking the opportunity for her eyes to adjust to the lighting conditions to have a quick glance around at their surroundings. Just the basics allowed by the dimmer orange light coming from the small kettle forge to one side. Mostly empty shelves but things on tables near the front of the store. A few weapons on the counter and a couch behind it. The details and full meaning of what it might mean escaped her; details which might have illuminated a greater picture overlooked. One certainty did not slip past her reasoning: This man's actions had purpose. It was not the looser strings of mental fatigue prompting wild action, but a concerted effort toward a goal. He wasn't insane. "Or, tell me your story, and we can try to do something about it." It was a simple speech, simpler then she intended. But she read the room as best as she might, and the letter in the man's possession seemed to weight her simple words positively. Victoria hoped it was at least a good start.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Well here we are again, me writing something, you reading it. It's like what happens when you write something, but reciprocity. Anyhoo, were this a sci-fi door, it would have already given us a cheesy robotic voice assuring us, "ACCESS GRANTED". But no one is by any means out of the woods yet. The letter has bought an audience, or more to the point, an initial advantage to get things moving and not unfavorable reaction.

Admittedly, there are more opportunities for things to happen, both positive and negative, inside of the silversmith's shop. The situation outside has not changed, but at least a half-crazy paranoid guy isn't pointing a crossbow at you all out there (yet). The stage is set, do what you will.

And as always - questions, concerns, or dice rolls, hit me up in our discord.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Even though the rain is relatively lighter than it was an hour past, it will still drench one if they spend an appreciable amount of time out in it. Cloaks, coats, and hats are one's friends now, probably more than ever.

Time: It is afternoon. A handful of minutes have passed since the group left out of the Hayloft/Public House area, so not a lot has changed there. Just enough time for a mild to moderate conversation before the next destination was reached.

Ambience: The rain was lighter but had by no means stopped. The sky is still dark, the streets are still steadily draining away water even as it continues to be replaced, and the citizenry of Avonshire were nowhere in open view. Banners which crossed the streets and festival decorations still hung, flapping aimlessly in the wet wind with no small touch of irony; celebratory markers for Harvestide which, up until a handful of hours ago, oversaw one of the great annual celebrations of the region.

Yet somehow, the scent of smoke and pork could still be detected faintly on the irregular wind. Some people couldn't be kept from their craft, it seemed, no matter the weather or potential danger looming about them.

Despite all of the lovely ambience, sights, smells, and movement about the general area of the Silversmith's shop, things seem rather still and tense, like the Township was holding its breath, waiting to finally exhale and take in a new breath.

*****

Jacques Mallard, Silversmith

The sign on the front door clearly read "Closed For Festival", though the party was fully aware that it was there purely to shoo regular business away. It looked slightly off-center from the last time that it was viewed, as if it had been removed and placed back in the interim. There was a short series of steps leading up to the door with a small landing, which lay underneath an equally small awning that gave some protection from the rain. As a result, the letter was able to be slipped underneath the door without worry of it becoming damp.

From inside, a heavy thump sounded from upon the boards that Baronfjord was so intently attempting to listen through, as if struck from the inside by something heavy. From inside the building, a loud, agitated voice could be heard growling something unintelligible. Regardless of what was said, it looks like the proverbial jig is up.

But that wasn't the only percussive wooden sound to come from inside the building in front of them. A pause, seemingly lengthy, occurred after the last corner of the paper disappeared from sight, taken up from the other side of the door. The muffled voice sounded again, this time easier to make out by virtue of proximity. "Uh huh. We'll see about that," it intoned, as the sound of something heavy slid off of the door, followed by a thunk as the door hit the floor on the other side of the metal-bound point of entrance.

At this time an event familiar to Kosara and Kathryn occurred. "BACK UP A STEP." came the voice again, loud enough to be heard clearly and enunciated fully to minimize any mistake on the part of the listener. The door heaved open just a crack, allowing a dim orange light to be viewed from the outside though the source of the illumination was not in direct view. A tall humanoid form blocked enough of the light to form a silhouette, and a voice issued from this form with more clarity than before. "If he sent you, you know what I'm going to do next. Come inside slow, and know that you have a crossbow on you." He steps back to accommodate entry.

When one enters the building, they are greeted by warmth greater than that of the Public House the party had just left, if with stuffier air. The lighting is dimmer, but once one's eyes adjust, adequate. True to his word, a man stands before you with a loaded, light crossbow, his hair and eyes a bit wild. The source of the orange glow was now visble - to one side of the open shop interior was a small pot forge containing a fair amount of molten metal, under which rested a flameless heat source, putting off light as a hot bar of forge-steel might. The rest of the shop did little to resemble a silversmith's, except for a number of knick-knacks on a table near the front door. The shelves along the walls were mostly barren, and the main counter had upon it a few weapons. Daggers, a spear, and another crossbow. Behind the counter sat a well made couch, upon which was discarded a blanket and couple of pillows that did not match the furniture, themselves. There were other things here, scattered about almost haphazardly; snatches of writings and various items that looked more at home in an alchemist's or talismonger's shop than one who works jewelry and keepsakes.

"Close the door behind you. There's a storage box near you there. On top of that box is a..." he paused for a second, "...a ring and a bracelet chain. Each of you take one and hold it to your tongue for a moment, and let me see you do it. THEN PUT THEM BACK. It used to be two rings until some eight-foot-tall tart ran off with one of them." He tilted his head to the side slightly to see beyond his door and those gathered beyond it. "HEY!"

Outside Silversmith's

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Hayloft -> Silversmith's, exterior Action: N/A Bonus Action: Morty Reaction: N/A

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It was times like this that Victoria wished she had some sort of raincoat for her animated companion, Morty. Having just gotten the smoky, meaty guy tidy and dry, she now had to bring him back out into the elements. The tireless boar was ever the trooper, even if it didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. In any case, the soulless hunk of cured meat and bone followed with jerky diligence as Victoria crossed the street diagonally to their temporary abode. Victoria had her own, more mundane methods of combating the elements and keeping her gear in good condition, even if she didn't mind relying on multiple uses of Prestidigitation to cover for lapses in care and upkeep. Her violin, however, was another story.

The strangely invigorated Bard took note of Kosara's declarations of intent concerning things close to her own heart - clothing and visiting stores. Cliched? Yes. But she was a person whose non-adventuring career pivoted around public appearance and the ability to impress a crowd. Style was important. "My dear, that hat of mine is not the most suitable for heavy rain, but I should think you would look just lovely in one nonetheless. Perhaps if we reach someplace more cosmopolitan, I would treasure the opportunity to help you pick out a decent hat of your own. Bespoke, I imagine, to account for your lovely ah..." Words were selected with the intent of not making Kosara uncomfortable as Victoria continued with a flattering smile, "...lovely cranial accessories." Graceful gesture on her part implied that her subject was Kosara's horns. "I would rather enjoy a shopping trip after the book closes on this. Darenby had a couple of good merchants I wouldn't mind visiting again. Oh, and almost anywhere on the coast..."

Victoria's thoughts of places more urban and the goods to be acquired there trailed off as they entered the Hayloft. She made quick work of acquiring her charcoal colored cloak, wrapping it about her and pulling the hood up, the action showing a brief glimpse of sheer, purple lining within. She adjusted the strap on her violin so that it hung at her side rather than her back - easier reach and less bulky if one had to move quickly - and debated going into her travel chest for additional weapons or goods. The decision was quickly reached that she was not the type to need a ton of arms and that her best weapon was her connection to the threads and notes magic around her. A good rapier never hindered matters, either. No, that was all she needed, Morty was good to go as well, and she needed to continue forward, now a little more comfortable in the weather.

Kathryn had made reference to the injury sustained during the tussle with Goblins, be it with some tact and complexity of emotion. While it was appreciated, she felt the need to wave it off for reasons both practical and of morale. Second guessing one's self and feeling doubt was a dangerous mindset to be in if walking into a potentially perilous situation. "We were all still figuring ourselves out. As a group, I mean to say. Let us not dwell on it further." She flashed a small smile and seemed settled on the matter.

The walk to the silversmith's place felt like it took longer than it actually did. Nerves, possibly. She was a little anxious to get into things proper. All the same, Victoria was glad that the group had all decided to come along on this. Even the new Dragonborn, though she wasn't sure what stake he had in this aside from the novelty of a mystery and a little adventure. It was reason enough, she supposed. The rain wasn't too intolerable and the drainage system in town looked to be doing a respectable job, so they weren't getting their feet soaked at the very least. But the environment that just a number of hours ago was festive and lively, full of cheer and celebration (admittedly with an undertone of something sinister, but we can't have everything, right?) was now grim and empty, even though the town had obviously not vacated. This put Victoria's mind at an unease. Expected, but not appreciated. When they actually approached the building of Monsieur Jacques Mallard, a worried look came over her. "Wait, I don't recall grabbing the paper. Did anyone get the note?" She was willing to cold-read the guy on the spot to try to persuade him to trust them, but really hoped it wasn't necessary.

Morty mostly followed along under silent mental command, expressing its nonexistent feelings on the circumstances by staring straight ahead, motionless unless called upon to do otherwise.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

I would like to start things off by congratulating all of you on your amazingly similar Perception rolls. That, coupled with the overall passive Perception of the group and I feel an odd need to stoke paranoia. Maaaaybe something's there. Maaaaybe something's not. Who knows? Anyway, I've stopped things right in front of the Silversmith's place, so do what you think is necessary for ...stuff. In short, wherever your posts start, they have to end in that location. Get with each other if you need to work something out, collab if you want, do your thing.

Any attempts to interact with the building or any possible inhabitants need to run through me, as we are in a pivotal juncture here, with reactions depending upon routes taken. Intended actions may be subject to die rolls just as often as common sense calls will be made. Recall how this man was described, and also recall how he was acting the last time he was spoken with. And remember, the situation is dynamic. Other things are happening while this transpires all over town. Per usual, for any questions, roll requests, or concerns, please get in touch with me via private message here or in our Discord.

Huzzah!

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: It is cool but not cold in the Township of Avonshire, or so would say the locals. The rain worked wonders in giving the ambient temperature more of a bite than probably anyone felt was comfortable. The intensity of the rain had indeed lessened, making short trips respectably more tolerable than a hour earlier. All the same, it's best to hang one's cloaks about them with care and gird one's feet with stout boots like good little adventurers, lest one catch a case of the sniffles.

Time: It is afternoon. One might surmise that it is late afternoon, judging by the area of the sky that is slightly less dark than the rest, but this is still up for some debate as the sky otherwise seems a wet, uniform grey.

Ambience: The rain had slowed. How long that may last was then unknown. All that was known was that there was window of time with which to get tasks handled. One could clearly see now why the main thoroughfares have such an ample drainage system, being so near to water - the heavier rain from before could be witnessed in the form of small streams, coursing down either side of the cobblestone streets even as inlet drains channeled it down and away.

As the group exited the Hayloft, an astute observer might have seen Robert closing one of the shuttered windows to his establishment again. He seemed to intentionally look away from the party as they made their egress from the loft but gave them a knowing nod after the door closed for the last time. Plausible deniability was ever a useful thing.

The once busy streets, full of life, laughter, and commerce, stood now empty. The tension in town was almost as palpable as the weather itself. Everyone knew that many had fled this town. Many more remained, however. Where else did they have to go? Their presence was felt just behind windows and walls of every building that the party passed on their way north and east to the locked-up establishment of Mr. Jacques Mallard, resident silversmith of the Avonshire Township.

*****

Jacques Mallard, Silversmith

This building stood apart from the others around it. While other businesses at least bore the appearance of a welcoming environment, this one was boarded up solidly. The slimmest of cracks between the boards keeping the windows secure betrayed the same diffuse, orange light as before, but only from a very close proximity. Upon this visit, however, one could hear a soft metallic tapping from within. A series of three steps lead up to this slightly raised building, terminating in front of a stout-looking, metal bound door. It is a place where precious metals are worked, after all; security was a factor in its construction. Overall, the feel of this place did not instill open invitation.

Just up the street from this place was the Bed & Breakfast which Cecily and Lizbeth chose for their lodging. One could plainly see the building, though the sign was a little obscured from this angle. It had curtains drawn and appeared to be doing a good impression of being otherwise nondescript.

For Kathryn and Kosara, this was deja vu. Others in the party had been through this area, probably passing it a couple of times during their time in town. Now, it stood as the focus in everyone's field of vision.

Outside Silversmith's

Sorry it's a little hasty. This is provided to give a rough idea where you want to set up in your posts. Jacque's place is the center building along the bottom of this map.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Victoria Belmont Half-Elf, Bard, Level 3 HP: 23 / 23 Armor Class: 15 Conditions: N/A Location: Neil & Bob's Public House Action: N/A Bonus Action: N/A Reaction: N/A

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The rain was slowing. This signaled the greater possibility that something was about to transpire. Not in a more nefarious manner (though this was still on the table), but that they would shift away from merely conducting an investigation and become more proactive in their appointed task. Then again, technically, their task was to investigate what the problem was and they had done that. If they had a little evidence to show Gregory then they might be able to get the full force of the soldiery back at Fort Darenby involved. If memory served, they might just have it in their possession, too.

Then a thought hit. The Sheriff's aide had said that he had gone and did not know when he would be back, not to mention that he didn't expect an update for about a week. Gregory was expecting this to be a much longer affair. He might not be back at the Fort for some time. Even if he was present, it was a half day journey there, and a half day back, not accounting for the time to rally and mobilize soldiers.

Another, less pessimistic idea came to mind immediately following - taking their leave would mean that she would not witness the end of the story here. No recording acts of heroism. No uncovering secrets. It would mean that she couldn't increase her reputation remotely as much, either, nor could she pen the song of this tale to relate elsewhere, except as secondhand. And Gods forfend, but if one of her teammates fell in glorious struggle against villainy, who might be there to attend to their post-life needs?

No, Victoria had to stick around. She was glassy-eyed and excited about it. Her heart picked up its pace a little in anticipation for what was about to come next. It wasn't a sudden overcoming of altruism and/or heroism as this wasn't really her style, but it was motivation enough. Her first lively words came in response to Kathryn, positively dripping with optimism, "I agree! I should like to get moving; it looks like an excellent time for it. I wonder though, if others might feel the same way." The last part came out hinting an implication of danger, but with no less enthusiasm. She seemed to be enjoying this, at least in part. "Moreover, I believe that expedience is as firm an ally as subtlety."

Victoria adjusted the brim of her hat, now in her hands, and temporarily set it on the table in front of her. She smiled broadly and nimbly twirled her arms into her slim, purple coat, quickly fastening it closed, and took to Kathryn's example by leaving her own coin on the table. Her violin, still in its strapped case, found its way onto her back and her hat back into her hands. She then moved to stand by the door alongside her colleague. "Not as important as armament," she confided in her very tall companion, "but I wouldn't mind collecting my cloak from camp." A wink and a smile followed as she rested her hand upon the hilt of her sword, motioning to the door. "I shudder to think what this weather will continue to do to my hair without a more rugged covering."

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Dragoknighte@rivaan@Remipa Awesome@Sigil@Arty Fox

Ah, the game is fast becoming afoot! Not that it was merely a-toe before, but things are happening. You will notice that this one was relatively short. This is on purpose. As we move into the Third Act, as it were, I'm going to need to plan the PCs environment based upon the timetable and events present in the general, current clack of the Avonshire Township. This means, this round is the time to finalize the PCs plans and begin to move on them - even if those plans are to stay put. It's an option as valid as any. In any case, the update is posted and if there are any questions, requests, or rolls you want to get done, do be in contact via our Discord.

And have a spiffy day. <insert Evil DM laugh here>

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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Weather: Not magic and probably not the act of a deity, but the rain seems to finally be lessening. The thunder, already sparse and irregular, has not sounded for some time. The temperature remained roughly the same as ever, cool but damp, promising an evening that could possibly drop to freezing. Rain still falls, just not at the level of a downpour.

Time: It is still the afternoon. Who's to say at this point whether it's early afternoon or late; time has a way of obscuring its passage in certain circumstances.

Ambience: The meal nears and/or finds its way to completion as meals are wont to do, giving Lea an excuse to keep herself busy removing unwanted bits of flatware and dishes. The firelight maintains its flickering vigil over the interior of Neil & Bob's Public House, providing adequate range of vision and creating a very homey atmosphere. The noise of the rain suddenly lessened as if a switch was turned to a lower setting. Conversation suddenly became easier, if nothing else.

*****

Neil & Bob's Public House

The abrupt decline in the noise pounding on the roof prompted Daisy, the resident Halfling cook, to scuttle over to the nearest window and peer through the crack between the shutters. "Hmm," was all she saw fit to comment, wiping her hands on her apron. Seemingly satisfied, she made her way back into the kitchen. This was not done in a dismissive manner; rather she seemed just fine with not being party to the conversation at hand. Lea's efforts at keeping a tidy taproom also bore fruit, the irony being that she left the actual bowl of fruit on the table as she was only going for the empty dishes.

It should be noted that both Lea and Daisy indicated nonverbally that they did not speak language of Goblins, and when Kathryn further inquired if they knew anyone who did it was met by a head shake and shrug, respectively. Robert was more vocal, his words flowing a little easier now that the topic was off of certain matters. "It's a general rule, what goes on inside these walls stays here," He continued, speaking now primarily to Kathryn and Victoria, "Now about Goblin-talk, I got no idea. Nobody I know speaks it either. Same about Gnomish, but it wouldn't be outside of possible that a few of the elder Halflings might know a thing or two on that." As the rest of the conversation seemed to turn away from asking him direct questions, a thing for which he was thankful, Robert moved himself to his usual spot on the other side of the bar. The sound of paper fluttering and a pen scratching upon it could be heard now that the rain wasn't roaring.

Around the same time that the present discussion around the table took to a pause, Robert returned with the paper. He lay it upon the table and began to speak, again choosing his words with care. "Mr. Mallard has become jumpy lately. Paranoid, might say. If he figures you for fast talk, he won't want to do business. Just how he is lately."

The note itself was written with a bold hand, in flowing script. It read:

"Jacques - These people are here for my commission. They're okay. - R"

Robert sighed and nodded his head. "Best I don't know where you're staying in town. You all want to come here for a meal or a few drinks, fine. Ask for a bed, I'll turn you all down and put out you as trouble, full public. Understand?"