Standing 6'9, 250 lbs, John "Shump" Shumpard the Half-Orc had to crouch slightly to enter the Stonehill Inn. Remember to smile John. And to speak softly. You make for an imposing figure. So though it is unfair, the responsibilty lies with you to change strangers perception of you.
But why? Why is it my responsibility, mother?
Because you have the strength to face down fear, son. In your heart, not your arms.
His mothers voice rang in thoughts. Pausing just a moment more in the doorway to take in his surroundings, and remind himself that his mothers advice had never let him down back home. "Good afternoon sir.. Might I purchase a hot meal, and cold ale?" He asked softly to the twenty something young blond human behind the "L" shaped bar, brandishing his most practiced toothy smile. When he smiled this way, the key was softening of the eyes. More so than trying and failing to keep sharp tusk like teeth that protruded out of the left and right sides of his mouth. "Been a few days on the road with not a sign of another living soul. I must say that it will be nice to spend a meal in civilization." His voice was like the lowest note made on a horn, blown as softly as possible. Stepping to the bar, he unshouldered his traveling gear and fished out his coin pouch. "How much good sir? And where should i sit? Just anywhere?"
The young man gives a bit of a start as he comes out of his thoughts. He looks up and up, his head tilting as he gives a good look at the new customer. Then he nods.
"Sit anywhere you like. Not yet lunch so have the run of the room. Can get you something quick, fire don't get hot for a bit yet. Drink?"
Nodding John turned to survey the available tables and replied softly, "Chilled wine or ale. Which ever is easiest. If I'm a bit early for lunch, maybe some dried meat? With a little bread and cheese?"
Grabbing his pack in his right hand, he stuffed the coin pouch in his left back in his pocket momentarily, then took two long strides to the closest empty table on the short end of the L shaped bar. He'd be close to the bar, and at his height even sitting, he could get a look at the door. He always felt more comfortable being able to see who came and went in an unfamiliar place. John slid his pack under said table, and unclasped his traveling cloak at the neck, before draping it over an empty chair. The size of the chair and cloak made a funny picture. Like someone had left their bedding at the inn. Though his mother had told him once, that the sight of a greataxe dangling at his hip like a carpenters hammer, was funnier still. John lifted the greataxe out of its loop fastened to his belt, and placed it on the same chair as his cloak, pulling the fabric over enough to cover the axe.
Taking his seat, he sighed heavily, relieved to be off his feet. "Doesn't matter what kind of meat really... Id just like to eat before i check the towns job postings. Do you know if there are many?"
The town seemed quiet enough, and the residents here at the inn could certainly be described as mild mannered. But even in quiet, mild towns, there was always something that needed doing. And getting things done had always worked for John when it came to fitting in to a new place. Show folk that you're kind and calm, and can be counted on. Soon enough you were a friend, and not just some half-orc stranger.
The young man nods. He reaches behind him for a glass and carries with him into the kitchen. After a moment he comes back with it and a plate of food and sets it down in front of you. "Be a silver. Can give it when I collect the plate."
Having finished his bread and meat entirely, he wrapped a portion of the cheese in a cloth for later, before downing the remains of his glass and depositing his dishes at the bar, along with a silver for the bill. "Thank you. Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to make it back for dinner." John nodded to the barkeep and retrieved his things from the table. He was grateful that his interaction had gone so smoothly, but was feeling disconcerted that the young man had made no response to his questions about job postings. He'd been hoping that he might point him towards someone, so that he wouldn't have to look like a fool attempting read the job postings himself.
For everything that his mother tried to teach him, social cues, mannerisms, the differences in currency and general rules memorized to make fitting in easier. She could never quite teach him how to read well enough. If what was written was only a few words long, like his name. He could usually work out the intent of the words. But if there was more than a sentence or two, all the letters seemed to begin floating and moving around the page. It was very, very, frustrating and trying to explain his predicament was equally so. Instead, he ducked back out of the the inn, and began walking in the direction of the job board he'd noticed upon arrival.
He saw the crowd of people from a distance and his immediate feelings were of relief. He could just speak with the group and offer his help! It meant sharing any rewards, but it was better than no rewards just because he couldn't work out the listing. A few more strides and his relief turned to mild panic. The group was made up of a couple of Humans, an Elf, a Gnome? The last person was the cause of the sweat on his brow, and his hand drifting unconsciously towards the greataxe under his cloak.
An Orc! Half-Orc? The difference was slim in his experience. He'd been raised among humans, by a woman who'd been victimized by an Orc, and a man who never let him forget it. John had Ander Shumpart's surname, but only because of the love Ander had for his mother. He could refuse her nothing. That didnt mean he couldnt quietly remind John that he was not truly his son, in the rare quiet times alone. And that allowance did not last for more than minutes after his dear mothers death. All of this left John with a feeling of guilt and self hate, and fear of others that call themselves any part Orc.
What were they speaking about? He could just make out... Defeating babies? Pulling the greataxe out from beneath his cloak, he gripped the weapon in both hands and strode up to the small crowd. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ORC? THERE WILL BE NO DEAD BABIES HERE!" He snarled loudly over the heads of the other people to what he could tell now, was a Half-Orc.
"Err..Half-Orc" he corrected himself with much less intensity, and now taking in the others body language and expressions, he thought maybe he'd possibly made a fool of himself here after all without even trying to read.
Walking just behind Chom, Erevan listens in on the interchange between the massive half orc and his tiny friend.
"Excuse my excitable friend, he gets caught up in his own world sometimes" he says with a grin. "There were never any babies in danger, only a group of adventurers. We did manage to avert a bloody battle though. We could've used an imposing figure like yourself. What's ya name?"
Just as he finishes talking a second orcish figure approaches, brandishing a huge axe. The situation escalates quickly. Hoping to defuse the situation, Erevan puts his small elven frame between the half orcs. "Hey hey hey, I think there may be a misunderstanding. As I was just saying, no babies have been harmed in any way. We are headed to see the Townsmaster to report our findings. Would you both care to join us at the inn for a round of celebratory drinks? Put some water under bridges as it may."
Tyrgram mulled over the transpired events in his head. They had completed what they had set out to to. Sort of: the woman had not followed them back to town but she seemed to know what she was doing and to force her would have been unbecoming. The Manticore was unexpected. The loss of his meagre savings even more so. He was just glad a fight had been avoided. Not so much because he did not want to fight but, if he had to be honest and Tyrgram's parents had made sure of that, he did not think they could have beaten it. In any case, the woman had given them a note to explain. A note to explain... Tyrgram's mind drifted back to the last time that he had to write a note to explain...
His head hurt.
The gnome's incessant prattling did not help.
Nursing a headache as they entered Phandalin once more, Tyrgram paid little attention to what was going on. Suddenly they were at the job board. Now there was a half-orc. Then there was talk of fighting babies. 'Orcs and babies.' Tyrgram muttered as fatigue surged through his body. 'I need a drink.' He sauntered off to the nearest inn, bumped into a second half-orc and fell on his back.
'Can this day get any worse?' Tyrgram grunted as he heaved himself onto one knee. His head was on the same height as the head of a greataxe, the metal reflecting his sour look. 'Apparently it can.'
“Averted a battle?” Ketch asked confusedly. “Why would one want to avert a battle? As Gruumsh the One Eye said, a battle averted is a battle lost! But here now, that one spoke of drinks, let’s have at it and then see if we can find ourselves foes to oppose and wars to be waged!” Spreading his arms wide so as to include the whole band of misfits who had gathered, Ketch herded his new congregation towards the tavern.
"I've only just come from there.." John mumbled in reply, his eyes lowering to the man on one knee before him. "Oh, sorry friend. Did I bump you?" Resting the greataxe on his shoulder he reached down and hefted the man to a standing position. "I will try and do a better job of paying attention." He apologized once more.
His eyes back on the Half-Orc speaking of drinks and waging wars, and foes. Frowning, he averted the other Orcish mans herding wingspan, unable to let his guard down completely. Side stepping, he took a look at the job posting board and noticed there were two flyers. Unsure of which to grab, he snatched them both and stuffed them into his side pocket before holstering his greataxe beneath his cloak again.
"Maybe the kitchen has the fire going for lunch now..." He considered, to the backs of the men he proceeded to follow towards the Inn. His stride gravitating to the opposite side of the group than the other half-orc. He seemed calm enough, and the others didn't treat him like a threat. That would have to be good enough for now, but he'd be watching.
"I am John Shumpard, it is nice to meet you all. You have permission to call me Shump. That is what my friends call me!"
"A drink, how wonderful! And with new friends, how marvelous!" Chom bounds back and forth between the two half-orcs, examining them repeatedly in turn and generally getting under foot. "My minor predicament, Mr. Shumpard, is that I donated all my gold coins to that nice manticore we met earlier. I do hope he is buying his friends a drink with our gold, it would only be proper!"
"Do manticore have friends?" John asked curiously. He had to move his attention from the Half-Orc, to keep his eye on the little fellow. He bounced back and forth, not quite wildly. John could best explain it as... carelessly? In a good way, he decided.
Good way or not, John was aware of the damage he could cause on accident. So he would shuffle a step or two out of cadence every time the Gnome bounced his direction. He felt unsure of himself, though not uncomfortable. "I don't think manticore have friends. Though i have never asked one." Outside of an Inn his small talk was nothing to brag about.
'This is getting out of hand: now there are two of them!' Tyrgram thought to himself as he got hoisted up by the second half-orc. He knew he should not judge but the sight of an orc, a half-orc but Tyrgram knew little of the difference, flashed images into his head of cautionary tales he had heard back home.
He decided not to speak of it but he did intend to keep a close eye on them. They seemed okay-ish enough but forewarned is forearmed, as they say.
Tyrgram switched to a different topic: 'Who of us actually has money for the inn now that the manticore has made off with ours?'
Ketch reaches to his money bag and quickly judges it’s contents by the weight of it. “I have enough coin for...” he pauses, just now realizing the size of the group. “For the need for adventure and battle! I was looking at the postings, after all. Plus I hear tale of a rich manticore needing the blessings of Gruumsh brought to their face!”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
"What a splendid idea!" Chom's face lights up at the mention of the orc-god. "If there's anything that would benefit from religious enlightenment, it's a manticore with a full purse and fuller tummy! Paying it a visit would delay us from investigating dragons though... and I doubt it is wanting guests at this time, right after a meal. I always go for a nap after a big meal, and I would be willing to bet the manticore is cut from the same cloth... if I had any gold to bet with, that is!"
The townmaster's hall is right behind the job board. Log style like the rest of the town.
As you approach you see a human woman (mid thirties, brown hair in a braid down her back, well used working clothes but clean) at the door, half yelling at it.
"Harbin! I'm not coming back here! If you want to talk, you know where to find me!"
She gives the door a last hit, then turns to walk away, almost walking into you.
"Dammit! No. Not you." She shakes her head and takes a breath. "Let's start again. Sorry. I didn't see you. Have business with Harbin, I reckon? Talk loud or you'll be repeating everything."
"Is he not answering?" Ketch asks. "I hate being ignored by people who owe me money!" A part of Ketch realizes he is owed no money, that it is only his new tiny companions owed money... But Ketch is choosing to ignore that part of Ketch.
"Here, let me try," Ketch says and steps up to the door and knocks in that peculiar Half Orcish way that occasionally knocks doors down.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
"If you're a dragon, I'm all skin and bones! No meat!"
The woman shakes her head. "Oh. He doesn't owe me money. Just don't like talking business through a door. Went in when he heard about the dragon and hardly comes out." She sticks her hand out.
"Haila Thornton, Miner's Exchange."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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Standing 6'9, 250 lbs, John "Shump" Shumpard the Half-Orc had to crouch slightly to enter the Stonehill Inn. Remember to smile John. And to speak softly. You make for an imposing figure. So though it is unfair, the responsibilty lies with you to change strangers perception of you.
But why? Why is it my responsibility, mother?
Because you have the strength to face down fear, son. In your heart, not your arms.
His mothers voice rang in thoughts. Pausing just a moment more in the doorway to take in his surroundings, and remind himself that his mothers advice had never let him down back home. "Good afternoon sir.. Might I purchase a hot meal, and cold ale?" He asked softly to the twenty something young blond human behind the "L" shaped bar, brandishing his most practiced toothy smile. When he smiled this way, the key was softening of the eyes. More so than trying and failing to keep sharp tusk like teeth that protruded out of the left and right sides of his mouth. "Been a few days on the road with not a sign of another living soul. I must say that it will be nice to spend a meal in civilization." His voice was like the lowest note made on a horn, blown as softly as possible. Stepping to the bar, he unshouldered his traveling gear and fished out his coin pouch. "How much good sir? And where should i sit? Just anywhere?"
The young man gives a bit of a start as he comes out of his thoughts. He looks up and up, his head tilting as he gives a good look at the new customer. Then he nods.
"Sit anywhere you like. Not yet lunch so have the run of the room. Can get you something quick, fire don't get hot for a bit yet. Drink?"
Nodding John turned to survey the available tables and replied softly, "Chilled wine or ale. Which ever is easiest. If I'm a bit early for lunch, maybe some dried meat? With a little bread and cheese?"
Grabbing his pack in his right hand, he stuffed the coin pouch in his left back in his pocket momentarily, then took two long strides to the closest empty table on the short end of the L shaped bar. He'd be close to the bar, and at his height even sitting, he could get a look at the door. He always felt more comfortable being able to see who came and went in an unfamiliar place. John slid his pack under said table, and unclasped his traveling cloak at the neck, before draping it over an empty chair. The size of the chair and cloak made a funny picture. Like someone had left their bedding at the inn. Though his mother had told him once, that the sight of a greataxe dangling at his hip like a carpenters hammer, was funnier still. John lifted the greataxe out of its loop fastened to his belt, and placed it on the same chair as his cloak, pulling the fabric over enough to cover the axe.
Taking his seat, he sighed heavily, relieved to be off his feet. "Doesn't matter what kind of meat really... Id just like to eat before i check the towns job postings. Do you know if there are many?"
The town seemed quiet enough, and the residents here at the inn could certainly be described as mild mannered. But even in quiet, mild towns, there was always something that needed doing. And getting things done had always worked for John when it came to fitting in to a new place. Show folk that you're kind and calm, and can be counted on. Soon enough you were a friend, and not just some half-orc stranger.
The young man nods. He reaches behind him for a glass and carries with him into the kitchen. After a moment he comes back with it and a plate of food and sets it down in front of you. "Be a silver. Can give it when I collect the plate."
Having finished his bread and meat entirely, he wrapped a portion of the cheese in a cloth for later, before downing the remains of his glass and depositing his dishes at the bar, along with a silver for the bill. "Thank you. Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to make it back for dinner." John nodded to the barkeep and retrieved his things from the table. He was grateful that his interaction had gone so smoothly, but was feeling disconcerted that the young man had made no response to his questions about job postings. He'd been hoping that he might point him towards someone, so that he wouldn't have to look like a fool attempting read the job postings himself.
For everything that his mother tried to teach him, social cues, mannerisms, the differences in currency and general rules memorized to make fitting in easier. She could never quite teach him how to read well enough. If what was written was only a few words long, like his name. He could usually work out the intent of the words. But if there was more than a sentence or two, all the letters seemed to begin floating and moving around the page. It was very, very, frustrating and trying to explain his predicament was equally so. Instead, he ducked back out of the the inn, and began walking in the direction of the job board he'd noticed upon arrival.
He saw the crowd of people from a distance and his immediate feelings were of relief. He could just speak with the group and offer his help! It meant sharing any rewards, but it was better than no rewards just because he couldn't work out the listing. A few more strides and his relief turned to mild panic. The group was made up of a couple of Humans, an Elf, a Gnome? The last person was the cause of the sweat on his brow, and his hand drifting unconsciously towards the greataxe under his cloak.
An Orc! Half-Orc? The difference was slim in his experience. He'd been raised among humans, by a woman who'd been victimized by an Orc, and a man who never let him forget it. John had Ander Shumpart's surname, but only because of the love Ander had for his mother. He could refuse her nothing. That didnt mean he couldnt quietly remind John that he was not truly his son, in the rare quiet times alone. And that allowance did not last for more than minutes after his dear mothers death. All of this left John with a feeling of guilt and self hate, and fear of others that call themselves any part Orc.
What were they speaking about? He could just make out... Defeating babies? Pulling the greataxe out from beneath his cloak, he gripped the weapon in both hands and strode up to the small crowd. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ORC? THERE WILL BE NO DEAD BABIES HERE!" He snarled loudly over the heads of the other people to what he could tell now, was a Half-Orc.
"Err..Half-Orc" he corrected himself with much less intensity, and now taking in the others body language and expressions, he thought maybe he'd possibly made a fool of himself here after all without even trying to read.
Erevan
Walking just behind Chom, Erevan listens in on the interchange between the massive half orc and his tiny friend.
"Excuse my excitable friend, he gets caught up in his own world sometimes" he says with a grin. "There were never any babies in danger, only a group of adventurers. We did manage to avert a bloody battle though. We could've used an imposing figure like yourself. What's ya name?"
Just as he finishes talking a second orcish figure approaches, brandishing a huge axe. The situation escalates quickly. Hoping to defuse the situation, Erevan puts his small elven frame between the half orcs. "Hey hey hey, I think there may be a misunderstanding. As I was just saying, no babies have been harmed in any way. We are headed to see the Townsmaster to report our findings. Would you both care to join us at the inn for a round of celebratory drinks? Put some water under bridges as it may."
Tyrgram mulled over the transpired events in his head. They had completed what they had set out to to. Sort of: the woman had not followed them back to town but she seemed to know what she was doing and to force her would have been unbecoming. The Manticore was unexpected. The loss of his meagre savings even more so. He was just glad a fight had been avoided. Not so much because he did not want to fight but, if he had to be honest and Tyrgram's parents had made sure of that, he did not think they could have beaten it. In any case, the woman had given them a note to explain. A note to explain... Tyrgram's mind drifted back to the last time that he had to write a note to explain...
His head hurt.
The gnome's incessant prattling did not help.
Nursing a headache as they entered Phandalin once more, Tyrgram paid little attention to what was going on. Suddenly they were at the job board. Now there was a half-orc. Then there was talk of fighting babies. 'Orcs and babies.' Tyrgram muttered as fatigue surged through his body. 'I need a drink.' He sauntered off to the nearest inn, bumped into a second half-orc and fell on his back.
'Can this day get any worse?' Tyrgram grunted as he heaved himself onto one knee. His head was on the same height as the head of a greataxe, the metal reflecting his sour look. 'Apparently it can.'
William Brackwater: Human Fighter - The Windward Isles
“Averted a battle?” Ketch asked confusedly. “Why would one want to avert a battle? As Gruumsh the One Eye said, a battle averted is a battle lost! But here now, that one spoke of drinks, let’s have at it and then see if we can find ourselves foes to oppose and wars to be waged!” Spreading his arms wide so as to include the whole band of misfits who had gathered, Ketch herded his new congregation towards the tavern.
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
"I've only just come from there.." John mumbled in reply, his eyes lowering to the man on one knee before him. "Oh, sorry friend. Did I bump you?" Resting the greataxe on his shoulder he reached down and hefted the man to a standing position. "I will try and do a better job of paying attention." He apologized once more.
His eyes back on the Half-Orc speaking of drinks and waging wars, and foes. Frowning, he averted the other Orcish mans herding wingspan, unable to let his guard down completely. Side stepping, he took a look at the job posting board and noticed there were two flyers. Unsure of which to grab, he snatched them both and stuffed them into his side pocket before holstering his greataxe beneath his cloak again.
"Maybe the kitchen has the fire going for lunch now..." He considered, to the backs of the men he proceeded to follow towards the Inn. His stride gravitating to the opposite side of the group than the other half-orc. He seemed calm enough, and the others didn't treat him like a threat. That would have to be good enough for now, but he'd be watching.
"I am John Shumpard, it is nice to meet you all. You have permission to call me Shump. That is what my friends call me!"
((And nevermind about the purse. My idiocy. You did lose the purse but will get some back when you turn in the note))
"A drink, how wonderful! And with new friends, how marvelous!" Chom bounds back and forth between the two half-orcs, examining them repeatedly in turn and generally getting under foot. "My minor predicament, Mr. Shumpard, is that I donated all my gold coins to that nice manticore we met earlier. I do hope he is buying his friends a drink with our gold, it would only be proper!"
"Do manticore have friends?" John asked curiously. He had to move his attention from the Half-Orc, to keep his eye on the little fellow. He bounced back and forth, not quite wildly. John could best explain it as... carelessly? In a good way, he decided.
Good way or not, John was aware of the damage he could cause on accident. So he would shuffle a step or two out of cadence every time the Gnome bounced his direction. He felt unsure of himself, though not uncomfortable. "I don't think manticore have friends. Though i have never asked one." Outside of an Inn his small talk was nothing to brag about.
'This is getting out of hand: now there are two of them!' Tyrgram thought to himself as he got hoisted up by the second half-orc. He knew he should not judge but the sight of an orc, a half-orc but Tyrgram knew little of the difference, flashed images into his head of cautionary tales he had heard back home.
He decided not to speak of it but he did intend to keep a close eye on them. They seemed okay-ish enough but forewarned is forearmed, as they say.
Tyrgram switched to a different topic: 'Who of us actually has money for the inn now that the manticore has made off with ours?'
William Brackwater: Human Fighter - The Windward Isles
Ketch reaches to his money bag and quickly judges it’s contents by the weight of it. “I have enough coin for...” he pauses, just now realizing the size of the group. “For the need for adventure and battle! I was looking at the postings, after all. Plus I hear tale of a rich manticore needing the blessings of Gruumsh brought to their face!”
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
"What a splendid idea!" Chom's face lights up at the mention of the orc-god. "If there's anything that would benefit from religious enlightenment, it's a manticore with a full purse and fuller tummy! Paying it a visit would delay us from investigating dragons though... and I doubt it is wanting guests at this time, right after a meal. I always go for a nap after a big meal, and I would be willing to bet the manticore is cut from the same cloth... if I had any gold to bet with, that is!"
((Don't forget the reward for going out to Adabra's. You'll have to give her note to the townmaster))
Erevan
"Shall we head to the Townsmaster first. I believe we have earned our bounty" Erevan takes the lead in heading to see Mr Wester.
The townmaster's hall is right behind the job board. Log style like the rest of the town.
As you approach you see a human woman (mid thirties, brown hair in a braid down her back, well used working clothes but clean) at the door, half yelling at it.
"Harbin! I'm not coming back here! If you want to talk, you know where to find me!"
She gives the door a last hit, then turns to walk away, almost walking into you.
"Dammit! No. Not you." She shakes her head and takes a breath. "Let's start again. Sorry. I didn't see you. Have business with Harbin, I reckon? Talk loud or you'll be repeating everything."
"Is he not answering?" Ketch asks. "I hate being ignored by people who owe me money!" A part of Ketch realizes he is owed no money, that it is only his new tiny companions owed money... But Ketch is choosing to ignore that part of Ketch.
"Here, let me try," Ketch says and steps up to the door and knocks in that peculiar Half Orcish way that occasionally knocks doors down.
We're doing one small murder-y thing for a bigger, better reason. The ends justify the means.
-- Eleanor Shellstrop
"If you're a dragon, I'm all skin and bones! No meat!"
The woman shakes her head. "Oh. He doesn't owe me money. Just don't like talking business through a door. Went in when he heard about the dragon and hardly comes out." She sticks her hand out.
"Haila Thornton, Miner's Exchange."