Sigil

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Weather: Raining, though some lighter. The occasional roll of mild thunder still sounded without any particular malice, and the sky was still overcast to the point of obscuring the sun. It was still cool but not overly cold, though the damp air might have made one give a dissenting opinion. Overall, no change from a half hour prior.

Time: Still mid-afternoon.

Ambience: Inside of the building, a man who presented as crazy worked diligently over his small pot forge. Outside, a different man who presented as an antagonist approached Jacques's front door, and he brought allies. The rain remains and water continues to run down the streets and into drainage, making the cobblestone street navigable but somewhat slippery to the unwary. There's mischief afoot.

*****

Jacques Mallard, Silversmith

Jacques picked up his pace as best he could without sacrificing quality, though he maintained conversation as best he could. Marita seemed to have the questions, so she was the one that the silversmith addressed first. "Figured that magic was involved. I know a little more than the next man in this town about magic, least enough to recognize 'geas'. Can't say who or what's responsible - like I said, I'm aiming to wait out the worst and leave town when daybreak comes. Details can sort itself out when my family's safe." Another unrolling of braided silver wire, another application of heat, and another tapping of swirling patterns to the interior of the metal cuffs. "Near to done..." he murmured. Speaking a little louder, he continued the discussion. "Don't know what they want, except to turn people. They've been getting aggressive with it, if the disappearances indicate anything. But... the Harvest Moon? You haven't sussed that one out yet?"

He set down his work and stared directly at Marita, giving only a glance or two toward Victoria. "The Harvest Moon. One begins with autumn and marks the start of the main crops coming in, but in Avonshire we recognize another. It marks the end. Grain harvests are in, pork gets cured away for the cold months. Things are pickled and preserved. But none of that's important. Harvestide marks the last full moon of Autumn. That's tonight and it lasts for three nights. There are infected wererats in Avonshire (whether they know it or not) that are going get very active as soon as the moon rises, and I don't know how many there are. The festival is incidental."

With Victoria, he was a little more terse. The general feel of this less loquacious attitude was easily explained by his desire to finish up work which he had almost completed. "Five gold. That will do. Yes." Jacques spared a glance over to her sword on the counter, stating, "You got that sword north of here. Someplace with money. Nice blade. Um... I can do five weapons about this size before nightfall. Four hours, maybe five, I can give you all something decent. But my door doesn't open after dark tonight, and it won't until daybreak."

Finally, Jacques rose from his workstation and handed the wrist/ankle manacles over to Marita, as well as the accompanying chain which connected them. His demeanor looked better composed now, if still ragged around the edges. He then too up Victoria's sword and inspected it more closely. "Slender, but it will take a fine inlay. Yes. Bring whatever else you want silvered, soon as you can. Hmm... filigree? No... swirls maybe. Nevermind. Function over form, but I will make them look presentable, hmm." His stability appeared to slip momentarily.

Outside Silversmith

Cavendish continued undisturbed by the imposing manner and speech of Kathryn. With the exception of a quick glance up in either direction, his gaze remained focused in front of himself, to the door he wished to enter and the people putting themselves in his way. He shifted his hammer off to one side, preparing to swing as soon as he got within the appropriate of his target which might have been the door or its fleshier guardian, either way would have sufficed.

The Constable ignored Kosara completely, not giving more than a silent glance in her direction. He seemed to study Baronfjord but again, did not address the unfamiliar Dragonborn. To Kathryn, he scoffed, saying, "Well then, m'Lady... aren't you just extra fancy?" A sneer followed, which seemed to be the answer given by the two guards at his rear flanks. One of them went so far as to hiss out a scathing bit of laughter. Cavendish went on, unperturbed at this display, "Anyone who stands in front of me, or tries to stop me, isn't getting a trial. Hells, it won't matter what happens to you in a few hours anyway. So you do whatever feels right." An unsettling smile formed on the man's features. He strode forward, the guards now moving to flank him on either side. They hefted spears as if to receive a charge and moved forward with their leader.

Inside of the shop, Jacques's head turned toward the boarded up windows. He raced toward one and peered out through a tiny slit between the wooden slats. Fear rose in his voice as he stated aloud, "No, don't... don't let them take me! I'm as good as dead if.. Hurry!"

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

This is a copy/paste with some alterations from our previous combat encounter. The same rules apply:

To be clear, we are NOT in Initiative order yet, and will not be until I post it here in the OOC. Continue to do your thing and speak among yourselves in the OOC Lounge in Discord. I will be doing checks behind the DM Screen (a restricted room in the Discord server) to determine various behind-the-scenes stuff that your characters are just not privy to as of yet. Please keep this in mind. When combat ensues, in the Location part of your header, fill in with the square you are currently occupying, an arrow ( -> ) and the square you are going to.

Example: P14 -> K18

When combat is entered into officially, the posting rules change. Roll your initiatives in the Discord OOC and tag me. I will roll for the baddies and we'll get ourselves an initiative order. The first person in that list has TWO DAYS to handle requests and post their actions. Actions are to be noted in the spaces provided in your header. When you are done with your actions, TAG THE NEXT PERSON IN THE INITIATIVE ORDER in your post. If it's an NPC, that means it's me.

I must admit that there is a flaw in my system here, as it relates to Reactions. All I can say is that we'll cross that bridge when it comes to it. If you can get in a Reaction and choose to, let me know. Until a better system is in place, we will work something out.

As posted in Discord, the initial locations of the Constable and his people are: J-11, J-12, and I-12, with Cavendish at the lead. All are facing toward the smith's door.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Though Victoria's mouth remained in a sociable, warm smile, her eyes widened with some combination of emotions a little less genteel. Her head turned to her companion in their endeavor, Marita, with this look of repressed emotion squarely fixed. Proper control over her features (an effort refined by years of showmanship and performance) asserted itself, but her eyes still entertained some sort of more-or-less good natured retribution brewing. Finally, a quiet head shake and hint of smile revealed itself which seemed to relate, "Well played."

Fine. Victoria had been "gotten". She was gracious enough to roll with it for the sake of their mission. "Fortuitous indeed, Lady of the Faith," started Victoria, the flourish common to her gestures somehow finding a spiritual sister in her voice, as if she was giving a tiny sample of her more public oratory works. "Robert's generosity and forethought to our needs bears remarkable fruit, of course." She smiled and reached into a pocket on the inside of her coat, producing the five gold coins she had taken from the table back at the Public House. Victoria stacked them neatly on the counter toward the center of the room, along with her sword belt which still contained her slim cut & thrust sword.

The idea of keeping it on her was the initial instinct being as they were confirmed to be in the middle of a hostile situation. This thought was shattered by the realization that, if the enemy was indeed a were-creature, her favorite pointy implement would be useless against them anyway. She had her magic, a long, reliable dagger, and she had her Morty. Morty couldn't do much against them either, though it would be amusing to the extreme to command the animated foodstuff to chomp down on a wererat leg and run for it. Or bar a door. Or act as a smoked, salt-cured tripping log. Merely buying time for the group's survival made this poor, dead beast a worthwhile investment. For a half-second, Victoria wondered what other accomplishments could be had when her abilities blossomed more fully. A grim smile followed and she put it out of her mind. There were more pressing matters at hand - namely keeping herself and her present party alive. And reasonably intact. "We've three more outside, Monsieur Mallard," she informed, hoping that the additional numbers wouldn't throw off the timing of his work.

Outside, regardless of whatever else was or was not occurring, Morty just stood there dumbly underneath the building's overhang, unmoving, like a sack of flour that lost its will to continue.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

@Sigil
Permission to edit header to reflect skills used?

@Sigil
Sure, go ahead.

@Sigil
Thanks! Done.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ever interested in learning new things and pieces of lore, crafty or otherwise, Victoria listened as she could and gave detailed attention to the technique presented by the silversmith as he made silver inlays into baser metal. She was not a metalworker in the slightest, though he did recall the time it took to put finishing touches on the slim cut & thrust sword generally wore when out and about in an adventuring sense. It was more utilitarian than most of her possessions, minimal of decoration and direct in its construction, its beauty came from decent craftsmanship of Ashhaven city smiths and a solid, swept guard. A practical weapon. Yet the minor embellishing of this item took significantly longer to achieve than the relatively lightning pace with which Mr. Mallard scored the metal of the cuffs and inserted braided silver wire. This had to be magic. And that piqued her interest even more.

Victoria glanced around the shop again, paying attention to the detail better presented in the brighter lamplight. This was a little odd in comparison to other jewelers' establishments, and not just for the lack of merchandise. There were sundries of ritual magic and some reagents that she recognized, and a suspicion that the book had some significance to an observer of arcane practices. Was this man acquainted with magic on a more formal level?

A clue to the answer of this question came in the form of Jacques himself admitting that his metal inscribing tool was a gift from his uncle. Maybe he wasn't a mage of some order or another, but simply close to someone who was. Whichever idea was accurate, both, neither, or some other eventuality, the fact was that this man was inlaying silver at a rate she had never even heard was possible. A spark of covetous pragmatism swept Victoria's face as she spoke with sweet, inquisitive notes, "Mr. Mallard, sir? I must admit that I am jealous of your ability to bend and craft precious metal. It is truly an art, and you appear masterful at your craft. Considering our suspicions, and what we have already learned from Robert, well... How long might it take you to grace, say for instance, a sword with your craftsmanship?" Her face remained positive even as her voice altered to the serious, following it up with, "And because of the emergency, what might I do to convince you? We are at a pivotal moment in time, Jacques. I saw with my own eyes a transformation happen right in the middle of the main thoroughfare. Giving us fighting chance would only help you. And others." Not to mention that, on a selfish level, a silver inlaid blade would be a beautiful and useful addition to her arsenal (and a great conversation opener for the telling of tales or influencing people of note). She smiled. It was flattering but noncommittal, in only the way a person of society might when they wanted something.

The silversmith paused his work very briefly to look to Victoria. He said nothing, sitting still at his workstation, though his eyes darted toward Marita, then to the door, then back to the Bard. Nodding, Mr. Mallard sighed a little and got back to his work, muttering, "I'm charging you all for raw materials."

Victoria's face beamed.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

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

And things become extra thingy. But wait! There's more!

For the meantime, assume that there is a moderate amount of time to have conversation or perform an action prior to the appearance of our favorite NPC lawman. Also be mindful of where your characters are in relation to the silversmith's. It'll probably come up soon. Either way, stuff is happening so best of luck and may the dice-bot in be merciful. Per usual, any questions or roll requests can be sent to me in our Discord, and have yourselves a spiffy day.

Avonshire - D&D Based Adventure

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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