Chapter 1: The City of Masir

Ledrith is the most eastern, least organized continent on Malpurajo. Rival city-states and minor kingdoms constantly squabble over territories and lines in the dirt, while the common people in said territories live their lives without much thought given to the ever changing banners flying over their land. Ledrith is a melting pot of strange, and anyone can find their place somewhere within the continent.

Perhaps one day the scholars will say that signs foretold the coming of a new era. That there were great storms signaling the births of heroes, or that there were whispers of the coming tide of chaos. But in reality, our adventure starts off on an average day in an average tavern, not discernible from any other day in any other tavern...

You can find a Plastered Dragon in just about every city on Ledrith, probably in all Malpurajo. They all have nearly identical signs (depicting a fat dragon enjoying a too-small goblet) swinging over their door and the same general atmosphere. The tables are set up exactly the same, and there are always seems to be a bald, middle-aged human cleaning glasses behind the bar top. When one walks into a Plastered Dragon, it feels as if they are walking into any other Plastered Dragon in the universe. 

The Plastered Dragon of Masir is no different. Travelers can duck in from the bustling port city's streets and enjoy mediocre ale and passable beef stew. Masir is large enough that there are half a dozen other (most nicer) taverns to choose from, but for whatever reason you ended up here. Outside it is cold, the first real chill of fall setting in, but inside there's a fire and plenty of ale to warm yourselves with. A female bard sings in the corner, to no one in particular as the bar is practically empty. There isn't much chatter, so it's hard not to listen to the words of her song.

Before the dawn of the Age of Men,

A castle that withstood the tests of time

Stood strong within the emerald fen

Against all logic, reason, and rhyme. 

Brod, the indistinguishable bald human who runs this particularly version of the Plastered Dragon, seems more focused on cleaning a tankard than listening to the music. For all of his work, the cup doesn't appear to be getting any cleaner. Despite her lack of an attentive audience, the bard plays on.

Perhaps an army drove them away,

Or a storm caused the tower to fall.

One way or another, no one did stay

Twas abandoned, every room and hall.

Seemingly content with the level of cleanliness, Brod hangs the tankard back up and begins walking around his tavern. "Today's special," he tells anyone who asks. "Is a mince meat pie. Don't ask what the meat is, because I couldn't tell you. Would you like one?"

Regardless of where they all went

The king left great treasure in his space.

Many great heroes have been sent

But none have returned from the place.

Perhaps there are gems and gold,

But only if you are brave and bold...

The cold cut easily into Jhese's lithe frame. Standing at about 5'5, he was no shining example of manhood. But he had a very attractive face, and a smooth voice with a trace accent, hinting at his foreign roots. His eyes were light blue, reminding anyone who peered into them of the waves of the sea on a sunny day, glistening in the light. His hair was long and fairly curly, the color like sand upon which the waves crashed, only to recede back into the ocean. His skin was tan, hinting at the lengthy amount of time he's spent outdoors.

Dipping into the Plastered Dragon, he was welcomed by the singing of a beautiful bard, the warmth of the fire, and the calming repetitiveness of all Plastered Dragon's. It was a place of stability, in his mind. A cittern [medieval guitar] was slung over his armor and cloak, marking himself as some wandering minstrel. Without any success in tracking down that pesky gnome, Jhese situated himself by the fire, the shiny studs from his chocolate-colored leather armor reflecting the flame's flickering light. He pulled his deep azure cloak around himself tighter as he sat to enjoy the music of the beautiful bard. He watched intently as she plucked the strings on her instrument, eager to see what secrets he might learn from her.

As the song came to an end, questions flooded his mind. What was this place of which she sung? What stories might she know of it? His stomach brought his lofty ideals back to the ground as it rumbled, reminding him of his hunger. Mince meat pie. The thought sickened him, but he wouldn't show it. Raising his hand, he calls out, "I'll take one of your pies, my good master! And a stein of ale to go with it, if you please."

Kero raises his hand at the mention of meat pie. His helmet rests on the bar revealing the young man's low-cut black hair. He glances at Brod with his grey eyes to be sure the man saw his hand raised. 

He sits with his back to the door, a long glaive resting against the bar next to him. His cloak drips of dew, as he's been travelling awhile and this was as good a place as any to take a rest. In his time down from the mountains he grew fond of these small taverns. The Plastered Dragon was a great place to rest his feet. The bard's song was interesting and it soothed him. Whether or not any of her lyrics were true didn't really matter. He soaked in the words and the soft sound as if it were his last rest.

"Brod! I'll have another ale as well," he says, waving the tankard in his hand for the bartender to see. His chainmail clanks as he rests his arm back on the bar. 

Splish splash splish splash. Rummble's tiny, reptilian feet pattered in the puddles he scurried through. His hood pulled far over his head, he ran towards the Plastered Dragon. There was always a nice sounding lady there, and the barkeep was generous from time to time. Rummble didn't have much on him now, hopefully he could get a meal and drink for free! Better than grubs! Well, sometimes. Depends on the grubs. Mmmm, now that he thinks about it, the best grubs aaaalways come out after a pour like this. Tomorrow morning should be good!

He opened the door and found the bar lightly attended. As usual, the woman with the nice voice was there. Some folks had their hands raised. Brod would no doubt tend to them. "Brod! Brod!" Rummble ducked in, clambering  up a stool to the bar table and pulling his hood back, his silver scales gleamed in the fire's glow. "I need soup! And drink!"

Kero takes note of a small critter that rushed up beside him. He'd have given the thing some soup if he had any. Once the strange turtle-thing came up behind him, his eyes went wide. He'd never seen a turtle walking on two legs before! It sniffed him, and Kero sniffed back. Perhaps it was a greeting of some kind. When it left and lingered next to the little critter, he watched with wonderment wondering what would happen next. He had completely forgotten about his empty tankard and the missing meat pie. 

Rummble was practically bouncing while standing atop his bar stool, waiting to be acknowledged by Brod. "Oy! Get off my snout! I'm trying to get some food here!" With that, Rummble hops down his stool, pushes it a foot or two away from the stout, walking turtle, which is a considerate distance to Rummble, and climbed back on. He gave the turtle some ups and downs before bending over the bar's table, half his body laying over its surface. "Brooooood.." Rummble pleaded lowly.

Aranala slipped through the door as it swing shut behind a Tortle, her gaze on the creatures back out of curiosity and confusion. That was something new. She may have grown up in forests and away from the world at large but she wasn't ignorant per-se. She knew the basics of the world--the basics of the creatures in it for all she barely interacted with them until this past decade and a half--but the Tortle she'd never seen the like of yet.

After a moment Aranala shook her head and patted up toward the bar. She hopped onto a stool--why must humans make things so damned tall--and leaned forward with a wide smile.

"Any food or drink available?" she asked, putting on the mask she'd grown so used to wearing these days since being away from her home. Outsiders, such strange creatures. Although to him Aranala supposed she was the outsider. Ah, well, to each their own. "And any good place to rest to know of?" A bed would be nice. Aranala made sure to crinkle her eyes, lips pulled up into the widest grin she could imagine.

Kero could watch this turtle forever. He wasn't sure what it was doing, but it was odd. Often times he would just stare at the snow as it landed and watch how it was absorbed into the icy cold ground below. That's what the turtle's actions felt like.

Remembering his thirst, he calls to Brod again. He wondered if the turtle drank anything. If Brod ever got around to bringing him a drink, he thought maybe he'd buy this creature one as well. 

As the various occupants settled into the Plastered Dragon, Jhese looked at them with the utmost curiosity. While having learned exactly what each of them were, this was the first time he had seen a tortle, and the first time he had seen a kobold up closer. What strange, lesser beings. He resisted the urge to grab for purse as the tortle came closer to him and... sniffed him? He held still, hoping not to attract more attention from it.

The tortle soon left, seemingly intrigued by the other occupants, and Jhese let out a sigh of relief. He continued to wait for his drink silently, keeping himself warm and watching the events unfold within the bar with mild curiosity.

Once again, the door to the Plastered Dragon bangs open.  Standing framed in the door is a large, imposing silhouette, a sodden cloak hanging from it's shoulders, face obscured by a hood. Pausing, it scans the room before stepping inside and closing the door behind. The figure throws back the hood, revealing a mass of black hair and inscrutable black eyes framed in the red-toned face of a hobgoblin. He frowns as he takes in the scene, then strides across the room, removes his cloak and hangs it by the fire to dry.

Moving to the bar, he slaps a hand on the counter. "Ale." While he waits, he looks down the bar, noting the odd mix of patrons and, perhaps, judging silently. Who can say. Broch'Tur is a man of few words.

Brod serves each patron in turn, maintaining his jovial smile. The man tries his best not to stare to much at the tortle... And the kobold... And the hobgoblin. All manner of strange guests frequent the Plastered Dragon, and it wouldn't do to alienate a customer based on the scaliness of their skin. Brod is more than happy to discriminate against people who refuse to pay him, however.

"Piss off, Rummble," he rolls his eyes. "I've given you food and drink three times this week, and what have you given me in return, you bastard? Give me some coin and then we can talk."

"Of course we have food, drink, and rooms, little lady," Brod's happy smile returns as he turns to Aranala. "What tickles your fancy? Rooms are two silver a night, and I'll even throw in a goblet of our finest Riordan Red." 

Jhese is given a meat pie that is surprisingly palatable, especially given its stellar recommendation, as well as his stein of ale. "You don't sound like your from around these parts, lad," Brod laughs jovially as he hands him his food. "But then again, neither do they." The bartender tilts his head toward the tortle, who was currently staring very intently at the halfling. The tortle seemed to make Brod very uncomfortable, as he quickly moved on to serve a different patron.

"Would you like anything to go with your drink?" the human asks Kero as he fills his tankard to the brim. Brod has seen many people in his day, and few looked like they needed drink more than this boy. "We've also got turkey legs, some bread and cheese, sausages and mash... If you're hungry, I'm sure we've got something here that will tickle your fancy."

In the corner, the bard begins to pack up her instrument. Perhaps it's a bit odd that now that she has a more size-able audience she is no longer playing, but that's exactly what she does. The minstrel finds herself a corner table and sits, tuning her lute and humming softly under her breath.

Kero accepts the refill from the bartender. When he offers some food, Kero waves him away. "No thank you, this will do," he says. He stands from his spot at the bar and grabs his glaive.

After a moment of glancing around the tavern, he approaches the bard. "May I sit with you?" He asks. Kero slides a gold coin on the table and adds, "I'm looking for information. And I've been led to believe you could help me." He waits for her answer. 

Jhese thanks the bartender for the meal, stating, "You have a good ear for the foreign tongue, master Brod." Observing Brod's uncomfortable behavior made Jhese smirk. If Brod's uncomfortable, then perhaps this is a rarer gathering. The hobgoblin though intrigued him, and he made careful note of its attire as it strode up near him to drop of its cloak. Normally their race was much more feral and xenophobic. What brought him into the city?

As he finished his mince meat pie, he began to down his ale. A warm belly made for a loose tongue and flirtatious gestures. His plan was cut short though, as the hulking human had already left the bar in a flurry of motion and sat down beside her.  "May I sit with you?" the barbaric human asked, sliding her a coin. What is he, trying to bed her? "I'm looking for information. And I've been led to believe you could help me."

Oh? This might prove useful. In such a place, a coin spent by one for information is a coin's worth of knowledge shared for all. Jhese sat back into his chair comfortably, shifting his cittern so it rested on his lap, and feigned playing a mellow, quiet tune to himself as he listened to and watched their conversation from the corner of his eye.

As all minstrels are, the bard is quite attractive. The telltale demi-pointed ears of a half-elf poke out from behind her long, curly red hair, although her features are much softer than the average half elf. The bard smiles up at Kero, her humming momentarily stopped. "Of course, I would be happy for the company," she smiles warmly. She ignores the gold coin and makes no motion to pick it up, her eyes shining as they focus intently on the human before her. "What makes you think I have the information you seek?"

"I've travelled lang from hild," he says. "And from what many van say, a skald is the best den to speak to." His words are mixed with the language of his people. So used to speaking in giant, these giant phrases are littered throughout his common dialect. "Wo is i?" He asks. Kero hesitates for a moment before pulling a small card from the pouch attached to his belt. "Wie in Masir? I must find it." He points to the writing and image on the card. 

It seems that if he concentrates and speaks slowly, he can recall the common words. But when in direct conversation, it's tough for the memories of those words to flow freely. "Please," he says slowly. "I must find this... place. The one that made this." He pulls another gold from his pouch, which is nearly empty already, and places it on the table for the bard. 

 "You aren't from around here, are you?" The bard asks, effortlessly transitioning into the language of giants. "Is this better for you? Keep your gold, I do not need it nearly as much as you do."

Aranala quickly hands over two of her silvers and happily accepts the Riordan Red. It'd been a while since she last hand a decent drink, and with a happy hum she searched out a table to set it that wasn't occupied by the strange...turtle...that stared at her near unblinkingly. What in the name of...Aranala shook her head. She shuffled around the creature and decided that the kobold looked far more interesting out of the group--one of which was a human and Aranala carefully avoided him as much as she could. She hadn't had the best track record with humans so far.

"He called you...Rummble?" Aranala asked. She tilted her head sideways with a frown. "What kind of name is that?"

"No," he replies to her. The tongue of the giants flows much easier than common does. "This," he points to the image of the woman on the card, "is my mother. And the words point to this city. I've traveled a long way to find out what this means, and the only information I have been able to gather is to ask a bard. People say bards often tell fortunes with these drawings. Why is my mother on this paper?"  He asks. The last image of his mother flashes before his eyes. Frozen in the Jotun Mountains nearly fourteen years ago, her pale blue face shining from what little sun pierced the clouds. The image he has given his goddess, Auril.