As everyone hustled and bustled to get the Elf cleaned up and turned into an instrument case, Ragnar listened as the woman leaned down and threatened his with gnashing fangs. She smelled of fresh cut flowers mixed with fresh ocean air, and for a moment Ragnar was on the fields of Bravellir again, taking in the sun and sea before a battle. Beautiful and dangerous.Ragnar thought to himself. As she stood up, and spoke to the Skald, Ragnar's stern face curved into a large mischievous smile and he let out a small chuckle. "Maybe yore all a bit bettah than Oi thought. C'mon, less get 'dis snake buried and ow points filled." And with that, Ragnar began heading for the door, the Elf's upper body hefted over his own shoulders.
Brother Birger ushers you out the back door, a small offset exit tucked away from prying eyes. The door leads you to a narrow alley behind the temple. Clearly the priests have kept the passage clean as its remarkably free of the common detritus and vagrants that typically litter such locations. The Svartalf is surprisingly heavy in death, his body stiff and wooden. The alleyway is narrow, making carrying the corpse awkward and slow.
Brother Birger looks anxiously out at your ramshackle party as you leave. "One-eye's favor be upon you, Brother Hemingr, and raven's speed to you all. Grim times are upon us, and I fear this path you've chosen will gift you little kindness." He closes the door, leaving you in the hazy half-light.
The alleyway leads you to an ill-maintained, but still frequented, thoroughfare. The night wind is cold and has driven all but the vagrants and foolhardy to seek shelter. Few eyes look your way, too consumed by drink or their own frigid misery to pay you any mind. Roondar's illusion holds up to the uninterested scrutiny, and the vagrants attentions slide off you to look elsewhere. The poor sections of the city are poorly patrolled by the City Watch even in daylight, so you expect little constabulary presence. Still...a dead body is a dead body, and even the best of illusions only hold for so long...
Vahlen scans the street for the nearest unoccupied alleyway, preferably one full of trash and debris. Perception check: 24
"Let's be quick about it, the spell won't hold forever. Skald, be ready to throw another one on 'im, just in case."
For DM:
Provided we find a place to dump him without a hitch, I'm going to take out one of his daggers and stab him a few times to make it look more like a mugging gone wrong. I'll wipe the blood off on his clothes and pocket it again. If applicable, I'd like to cover him in trash and debris to hide the body. Not likely that the guard would care about some dead dark elf in an alley, but just in case.
Roondar prepares to recast minor illusion once the first iteration wears off as he looks about for a large snow drift or heaps of rubbish. (Perception: 13)
"You know," Roondar says to no one in particular, "This place used to be so cheerful... Why my cousin Nangoldonk the White, best friends with a consort of Odin's you see, once said 'You could find the finest ale, best beds, and chummiest Hof in the north right here in Drifsgaard! It's a waypoint, you see! Crossroads of the gods themselves!'
Loki's loins this place is dismal now... Pah, thanks for the tip Nangoldonk! Fimbulwinter... spider queens... svartalf insults, Hel... why Ragnar here could spit in Fenris' eye and I'd cheer him on all the way! Niddhog... he may be a different story..."
With that Roondar begins humming another tune, interjecting with lyrics from time to time about a summer's eve, a lover's embrace and drinking more than you could need.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!" DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen" Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
“I too remember the days where the streets were full of happiness and commerce.” Stated Cerridwen with some nostalgia in her gaze. “Perhaps this Hecatrix will have some answers as to why the 9 realms are in such a state.” With that Cerridwen turned to face away from the group to make sure they weren’t being followed Perception: 18
Vahlen, finding that tracking beasts in the wild and navigating a city aren't too terribly different, locates and excellent hiding place. At the far corner of a large warehouse the bitter wind creates a decent sized snowdrift, one that has clearly gone undisturbed for days. Past the snow you see a pile of trash and other rotting detritus, a perfect deterrent for any but the most dedicated observer.
You step cautiously through the snowdrift, making as few footprints as possible. There proves to be more than enough detritus to cover the former Svartalf in a thick layer trash. You work quickly but efficiently, and before long the Svartalf is entirely hidden from prying eyes. Taking great care to step back through the snow using the footprints you already made, Vahlen uses a tried-but-true talent key to any good ranger's repertoire, covering the tracks as you go, leaving so little disturbance to the snow that only the most cunning of eyes would notice. The night's snowfall is slow yet steady, and before long any evidence of your passing will be completely hidden.
"Great work, Vahlen!" Roondar beams, "It seems you're a bit of an illusionist yourself! Now, I know we said we'd go to the pub and check out some rumors, but I also want to make note that we may get some information from the Jarl if necessary. I have a little experience chatting with members of the court, and may be able to entertain to make up for some time? That would be a tomorrow task, I bet, but just a thought..."
"It just so happens that my niece's best friend, Thrudis Brypolsdottr, knows one of the Housecarls to the thane and may get us entrance. I have done my fair share of traveling too, friends..."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!" DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen" Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
As they finish stashing the body, Rangar nods to the Skald as he tells of his own connections to those who may be able to help. "Less 'ead back to dah Ruddah an' see what 'ole Noine-Fingahs 'as tah say. If 'ees not in dah mood, or we don' loike his ansahs, we can follow dah Skald. It sounds loike we 'ave a lotta leads between all of us. 'Less get stahted, shall we? Oi'm thirsty." With this, Ragnar begins making his way to the Rudder without even checking to see who's following.
Cerridwen wasn’t keen on following directions from a Dwarf with an encyclopedia of bad pick up lines; but in this case it didn’t seem like she had much of a choice. She turned on her heel and let Ragnar lead the way.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
Finishing his work, Vahlen took one last quick look around to make sure they weren't being followed. Having been stabbed twice on his night off, he was feeling a little restless and figured he deserved another drink. Mulling over the bar fight in his head, he could practically hear Ivar's chastising tone ringing in his ears "Off-hand blade, high parry. ...No, no. The angle is wrong, and your weight is all on your back foot. You've left yourself open again..." Vahlen smiled faintly to himself before his countenance grew grim. It had been nearly three years since Ivar was killed, and he'd made little progress in finding the other members of his order. He was beginning to wonder if they even existed.
Pulling forward the hood of his cloak, he quickens his step to keep pace with the dwarf. The snow now blanketed much of the discarded filth and uneven cobbles, the acrid stench of wood smoke and burning trash wafting from half-crumbled chimneys.
Looking about the rest of the party as they walked along, Ragnar shook his head and breathed a heavy sigh. It had been quite some time since he had traveled with more than just Vahlen, and the last time hadn't ended so well. As Vahlen came up beside him at the head of the pack, Ragnar looked up at him and said, "Well, whaddya think? Obviously they was aftah me, ore us. Not tah mention now we got 'dis lot ahngin' about," He gestures to the rest of the party. "There's a lotta bahstahds who'd wan' us ded, we jus' gottah figure out who an' why." As the pair marched on thinking to themselves, but surely on the same page, Ragnar interjected once more, "'An wot Oi said about Noine-Fingahs 'an 'is daughtahs earlier....Oi didn' say nuffin' about it to 'im fer dah record..."
"Good. He's ornery enough as is." Casting a sidelong glance at the four following in tow, he shrugged. "They seem decent enough, I suppose. Might have gotten another dagger between my ribs if not for the help, and I make a pretty piss-poor pincushion, eh?" Vahlen was not used to strangers intervening on his behalf. "You know how I feel about traveling with a crowd. ...But, if somebody did put a hit out on us..." His voice trails off, lost in thought. They had never double crossed a Hecatrix, at least not one that he remembered. "Still not sure what to think of that woman you've been making eyes at."
Hem pulled his (now slightly stained) cloak tighter around him against the cold, thinking about the now dead and hidden Svartalf as he walked with the others through the dark and damp night. "I definitely didn't expect this night to end up with me walking away from my job and a dead Svartalf to find answers to something I know nothing about. Hopefully this Nine-Fingers fellow can help our friends here jog their memories." He glanced at Vahlen and Ragnar as he spoke the last bit, who were muttering by themselves at the edge of the party.
"Pah, Oi make oi's at 'em all, Vahlen, you know dat. But 'dis one? Attache' to dah Vanir? Moight be a bit much, even 'fer me. Oi loike moi 'ead where it is for toime bein'..."
Turning around as heard the small monk talking about Nine-Fingers, he nodded his head, "'Ole Noine-Fingahs 'ears a lot from loose lips at dah taverns. He may not be dah most....employable of sorts, but he knows 'ow tah get rumahs."
As Ragnar turned and told the Monk that Nine- Fingers was a procurer of rumors Cerridwen stepped a pace closer to him and ,with a slight grin on the left side of her lips, she says to Ragnar "Even rumors about his daughters?"
Being out of the reach of the Vanir was a nice change for her and she could feel a bit of her sense of humor and sass coming back.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
At the arrival of Cerridwen's snappy comeback, Ragnar burst out laughing. "Probably, lass, probably! Maybe it was Noine-Fingahs sent 'dem vermin on us, eh Vahlen? 'Eard 'bout owr little scuffle wiff Tara 'an Cäzilie 'an decided tah take us out. Heh. Looking back toward Cerridwen, Ragnar smiles, Yew've got it all eh? Looks, smahts, fangs, 'an now a sense of humah..." With this, Ragnar shot a look at Vahlen as if to say, "Maybe I don't need my head on my shoulders..." and shrugged ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow. Luckily, he was sure Vahlen got the gist without having to say too much. Spending day in and day out with someone for a few years will do that...
As he fought to suppress a laugh, Vahlen immediately recognized the look that Ragnar always gets before he finds himself in trouble. He smirked at the mention of fangs and shrugged in reply, as if to say: "There are worse ways to die, I suppose." He followed this with a curt nod that seemed to add: "She's alright."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Roondar scuttles up near the chatting group and chides "Ooh, are we all friends now?!" He adds a wink to Cerridwen and Ragnar and beams up at the elf. "You know, I may never have heard of Nine-Fingers, but my great grandfather Haming Half-Hand had seven in all! He still raided troll dungeons, you know! Made a name for himself, obviously. Where we got some of the family wealth! But then my sister's half-brother Makor the Drowned lost it all... Probably in Niddhog's belly somewhere..."
Roondar skipped along with the crew, completely oblivious to whether they were listening or not. Also oblivious to the blistering cold as he was happy to be in company again.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!" DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen" Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
The grisly deed done, Ragnar and Vahlen lead the party through the winding streets of Driftsgaard towards the Muddy Rudder. Expectations could not have been much lower after exiting Hof Muninn into a trash heaped back-alley in a bad part of town, and yet, you find those expectations lowered still. The Muddy Rudder is a squat building built of muddied clay bricks stained by time, weather, and late-night public urination, top;ed by a tangled mouldering mess of thatch. The Rudder sits squarely in the heart of the Shallows, a once prominent fishing quarter that long ago had been Driftsgaard's pride and joy. But further construction had caused waters to be rerouted, and the shining port had all but dried up, canals once full of fish and vessels home only to a faint trickle of brackish water.
Despite the late hour the Muddy Rudder is in full swing. Boisterous drunks stumble in and out of the door, spilling light and drunken shouting into the street. As you shoulder your way through the door you're hit with the full volume of the place. It's as if Thor himself had set up shop and begun to brag of his exploits. The bar is packed full to bursting with all manner of unwashed fishermen, thralls, and degenerates. You make your way through to the bar itself and spy the largest dwarf you've ever seen. Logan Nine-fingers is tall for a dwarf, but that's not where the bulk of his size comes from. Stained old leathers bulge and strain against his ample gut, yet the rotund dwarf maneuvers behind the bar with a dancer's grace, pouring four tankards of piss yellow ale at a time and slinging them down the greasy wooden counter.
"Oi! Chicken ****ers!" The dwarf shouts. "Close the thrice-damned door before I shove my boot so far up your ass that Tyr himself would have to pull it back out! It's colder than Angrboda's womb out there!"
Nine-fingers is assisted by his four daughters, women possessing all the stoutness and solidity of their father, and an equal measure of charm.
As everyone hustled and bustled to get the Elf cleaned up and turned into an instrument case, Ragnar listened as the woman leaned down and threatened his with gnashing fangs. She smelled of fresh cut flowers mixed with fresh ocean air, and for a moment Ragnar was on the fields of Bravellir again, taking in the sun and sea before a battle. Beautiful and dangerous. Ragnar thought to himself. As she stood up, and spoke to the Skald, Ragnar's stern face curved into a large mischievous smile and he let out a small chuckle. "Maybe yore all a bit bettah than Oi thought. C'mon, less get 'dis snake buried and ow points filled." And with that, Ragnar began heading for the door, the Elf's upper body hefted over his own shoulders.
Brother Birger ushers you out the back door, a small offset exit tucked away from prying eyes. The door leads you to a narrow alley behind the temple. Clearly the priests have kept the passage clean as its remarkably free of the common detritus and vagrants that typically litter such locations. The Svartalf is surprisingly heavy in death, his body stiff and wooden. The alleyway is narrow, making carrying the corpse awkward and slow.
Brother Birger looks anxiously out at your ramshackle party as you leave. "One-eye's favor be upon you, Brother Hemingr, and raven's speed to you all. Grim times are upon us, and I fear this path you've chosen will gift you little kindness." He closes the door, leaving you in the hazy half-light.
The alleyway leads you to an ill-maintained, but still frequented, thoroughfare. The night wind is cold and has driven all but the vagrants and foolhardy to seek shelter. Few eyes look your way, too consumed by drink or their own frigid misery to pay you any mind. Roondar's illusion holds up to the uninterested scrutiny, and the vagrants attentions slide off you to look elsewhere. The poor sections of the city are poorly patrolled by the City Watch even in daylight, so you expect little constabulary presence. Still...a dead body is a dead body, and even the best of illusions only hold for so long...
Vahlen scans the street for the nearest unoccupied alleyway, preferably one full of trash and debris. Perception check: 24
"Let's be quick about it, the spell won't hold forever. Skald, be ready to throw another one on 'im, just in case."
For DM:
Provided we find a place to dump him without a hitch, I'm going to take out one of his daggers and stab him a few times to make it look more like a mugging gone wrong. I'll wipe the blood off on his clothes and pocket it again. If applicable, I'd like to cover him in trash and debris to hide the body. Not likely that the guard would care about some dead dark elf in an alley, but just in case.
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
Roondar prepares to recast minor illusion once the first iteration wears off as he looks about for a large snow drift or heaps of rubbish. (Perception: 13)
"You know," Roondar says to no one in particular, "This place used to be so cheerful... Why my cousin Nangoldonk the White, best friends with a consort of Odin's you see, once said 'You could find the finest ale, best beds, and chummiest Hof in the north right here in Drifsgaard! It's a waypoint, you see! Crossroads of the gods themselves!'
Loki's loins this place is dismal now... Pah, thanks for the tip Nangoldonk! Fimbulwinter... spider queens... svartalf insults, Hel... why Ragnar here could spit in Fenris' eye and I'd cheer him on all the way! Niddhog... he may be a different story..."
With that Roondar begins humming another tune, interjecting with lyrics from time to time about a summer's eve, a lover's embrace and drinking more than you could need.
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
“I too remember the days where the streets were full of happiness and commerce.” Stated Cerridwen with some nostalgia in her gaze. “Perhaps this Hecatrix will have some answers as to why the 9 realms are in such a state.” With that Cerridwen turned to face away from the group to make sure they weren’t being followed Perception: 18
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
Vahlen, finding that tracking beasts in the wild and navigating a city aren't too terribly different, locates and excellent hiding place. At the far corner of a large warehouse the bitter wind creates a decent sized snowdrift, one that has clearly gone undisturbed for days. Past the snow you see a pile of trash and other rotting detritus, a perfect deterrent for any but the most dedicated observer.
You step cautiously through the snowdrift, making as few footprints as possible. There proves to be more than enough detritus to cover the former Svartalf in a thick layer trash. You work quickly but efficiently, and before long the Svartalf is entirely hidden from prying eyes. Taking great care to step back through the snow using the footprints you already made, Vahlen uses a tried-but-true talent key to any good ranger's repertoire, covering the tracks as you go, leaving so little disturbance to the snow that only the most cunning of eyes would notice. The night's snowfall is slow yet steady, and before long any evidence of your passing will be completely hidden.
"Great work, Vahlen!" Roondar beams, "It seems you're a bit of an illusionist yourself! Now, I know we said we'd go to the pub and check out some rumors, but I also want to make note that we may get some information from the Jarl if necessary. I have a little experience chatting with members of the court, and may be able to entertain to make up for some time? That would be a tomorrow task, I bet, but just a thought..."
"It just so happens that my niece's best friend, Thrudis Brypolsdottr, knows one of the Housecarls to the thane and may get us entrance. I have done my fair share of traveling too, friends..."
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
As they finish stashing the body, Rangar nods to the Skald as he tells of his own connections to those who may be able to help. "Less 'ead back to dah Ruddah an' see what 'ole Noine-Fingahs 'as tah say. If 'ees not in dah mood, or we don' loike his ansahs, we can follow dah Skald. It sounds loike we 'ave a lotta leads between all of us. 'Less get stahted, shall we? Oi'm thirsty." With this, Ragnar begins making his way to the Rudder without even checking to see who's following.
Cerridwen wasn’t keen on following directions from a Dwarf with an encyclopedia of bad pick up lines; but in this case it didn’t seem like she had much of a choice. She turned on her heel and let Ragnar lead the way.
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
Finishing his work, Vahlen took one last quick look around to make sure they weren't being followed. Having been stabbed twice on his night off, he was feeling a little restless and figured he deserved another drink. Mulling over the bar fight in his head, he could practically hear Ivar's chastising tone ringing in his ears "Off-hand blade, high parry. ...No, no. The angle is wrong, and your weight is all on your back foot. You've left yourself open again..." Vahlen smiled faintly to himself before his countenance grew grim. It had been nearly three years since Ivar was killed, and he'd made little progress in finding the other members of his order. He was beginning to wonder if they even existed.
Pulling forward the hood of his cloak, he quickens his step to keep pace with the dwarf. The snow now blanketed much of the discarded filth and uneven cobbles, the acrid stench of wood smoke and burning trash wafting from half-crumbled chimneys.
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
Looking about the rest of the party as they walked along, Ragnar shook his head and breathed a heavy sigh. It had been quite some time since he had traveled with more than just Vahlen, and the last time hadn't ended so well. As Vahlen came up beside him at the head of the pack, Ragnar looked up at him and said, "Well, whaddya think? Obviously they was aftah me, ore us. Not tah mention now we got 'dis lot ahngin' about," He gestures to the rest of the party. "There's a lotta bahstahds who'd wan' us ded, we jus' gottah figure out who an' why." As the pair marched on thinking to themselves, but surely on the same page, Ragnar interjected once more, "'An wot Oi said about Noine-Fingahs 'an 'is daughtahs earlier....Oi didn' say nuffin' about it to 'im fer dah record..."
"Good. He's ornery enough as is." Casting a sidelong glance at the four following in tow, he shrugged. "They seem decent enough, I suppose. Might have gotten another dagger between my ribs if not for the help, and I make a pretty piss-poor pincushion, eh?" Vahlen was not used to strangers intervening on his behalf. "You know how I feel about traveling with a crowd. ...But, if somebody did put a hit out on us..." His voice trails off, lost in thought. They had never double crossed a Hecatrix, at least not one that he remembered. "Still not sure what to think of that woman you've been making eyes at."
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
Hem pulled his (now slightly stained) cloak tighter around him against the cold, thinking about the now dead and hidden Svartalf as he walked with the others through the dark and damp night. "I definitely didn't expect this night to end up with me walking away from my job and a dead Svartalf to find answers to something I know nothing about. Hopefully this Nine-Fingers fellow can help our friends here jog their memories." He glanced at Vahlen and Ragnar as he spoke the last bit, who were muttering by themselves at the edge of the party.
"Pah, Oi make oi's at 'em all, Vahlen, you know dat. But 'dis one? Attache' to dah Vanir? Moight be a bit much, even 'fer me. Oi loike moi 'ead where it is for toime bein'..."
Turning around as heard the small monk talking about Nine-Fingers, he nodded his head, "'Ole Noine-Fingahs 'ears a lot from loose lips at dah taverns. He may not be dah most....employable of sorts, but he knows 'ow tah get rumahs."
As Ragnar turned and told the Monk that Nine- Fingers was a procurer of rumors Cerridwen stepped a pace closer to him and ,with a slight grin on the left side of her lips, she says to Ragnar "Even rumors about his daughters?"
Being out of the reach of the Vanir was a nice change for her and she could feel a bit of her sense of humor and sass coming back.
Bronwyn M.
Cerridwen Ebbenflow- Human Variant Druid- lvl1 "Scourge of the North"
Azrial- Half Elf Cleric- lvl1 "Horde of the Dragon Queen"
At the arrival of Cerridwen's snappy comeback, Ragnar burst out laughing. "Probably, lass, probably! Maybe it was Noine-Fingahs sent 'dem vermin on us, eh Vahlen? 'Eard 'bout owr little scuffle wiff Tara 'an Cäzilie 'an decided tah take us out. Heh. Looking back toward Cerridwen, Ragnar smiles, Yew've got it all eh? Looks, smahts, fangs, 'an now a sense of humah..." With this, Ragnar shot a look at Vahlen as if to say, "Maybe I don't need my head on my shoulders..." and shrugged ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow. Luckily, he was sure Vahlen got the gist without having to say too much. Spending day in and day out with someone for a few years will do that...
As he fought to suppress a laugh, Vahlen immediately recognized the look that Ragnar always gets before he finds himself in trouble. He smirked at the mention of fangs and shrugged in reply, as if to say: "There are worse ways to die, I suppose." He followed this with a curt nod that seemed to add: "She's alright."
Vahlen Rimewind - Elf Ranger LVL 1 - Scourge of the North
Jesse M.
Roondar scuttles up near the chatting group and chides "Ooh, are we all friends now?!" He adds a wink to Cerridwen and Ragnar and beams up at the elf. "You know, I may never have heard of Nine-Fingers, but my great grandfather Haming Half-Hand had seven in all! He still raided troll dungeons, you know! Made a name for himself, obviously. Where we got some of the family wealth! But then my sister's half-brother Makor the Drowned lost it all... Probably in Niddhog's belly somewhere..."
Roondar skipped along with the crew, completely oblivious to whether they were listening or not. Also oblivious to the blistering cold as he was happy to be in company again.
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"
The grisly deed done, Ragnar and Vahlen lead the party through the winding streets of Driftsgaard towards the Muddy Rudder. Expectations could not have been much lower after exiting Hof Muninn into a trash heaped back-alley in a bad part of town, and yet, you find those expectations lowered still. The Muddy Rudder is a squat building built of muddied clay bricks stained by time, weather, and late-night public urination, top;ed by a tangled mouldering mess of thatch. The Rudder sits squarely in the heart of the Shallows, a once prominent fishing quarter that long ago had been Driftsgaard's pride and joy. But further construction had caused waters to be rerouted, and the shining port had all but dried up, canals once full of fish and vessels home only to a faint trickle of brackish water.
Despite the late hour the Muddy Rudder is in full swing. Boisterous drunks stumble in and out of the door, spilling light and drunken shouting into the street. As you shoulder your way through the door you're hit with the full volume of the place. It's as if Thor himself had set up shop and begun to brag of his exploits. The bar is packed full to bursting with all manner of unwashed fishermen, thralls, and degenerates. You make your way through to the bar itself and spy the largest dwarf you've ever seen. Logan Nine-fingers is tall for a dwarf, but that's not where the bulk of his size comes from. Stained old leathers bulge and strain against his ample gut, yet the rotund dwarf maneuvers behind the bar with a dancer's grace, pouring four tankards of piss yellow ale at a time and slinging them down the greasy wooden counter.
"Oi! Chicken ****ers!" The dwarf shouts. "Close the thrice-damned door before I shove my boot so far up your ass that Tyr himself would have to pull it back out! It's colder than Angrboda's womb out there!"
Nine-fingers is assisted by his four daughters, women possessing all the stoutness and solidity of their father, and an equal measure of charm.
Roondar peers up between an army of armpits and regards the fat dwarf, "Oi! Nine-Fingers! An ale? I've had a long night!"
As he waits for his drink to slosh down the disgusting bar he begins looking for a stage... or anything else that may catch his attention.
Perception: 2
DM "Journey Unto Chaos!"
DM "Hoard of the Dragon Queen"
Roondar Stumbleduck Ningel - Gnome Bard lv 1 "Scourge of the North"