The older guards, their faces etched with lines of weathered experience, exchange glances as Mads Mardigan, in his 'rich speak,' requests their assistance. One of the guards, a grizzled fellow with a greying beard, squints at Mardigan and then at his companions, particularly eyeing the goblin and orc with a mix of wariness and curiosity.

The guard shifts his weight, the leather of his armor creaking slightly, and then clears his throat before responding, "A Lady Othmor, you say? Well, now, we're more familiar with a Lord Othmor around these parts. Might have had a sister or some kin, but can't say I recall the details. The Lord Othmor, well, his luck's taken a turn for the worse, that's for certain. He's not one for advertising his whereabouts to just anyone, let alone those with a goblin and an orc in tow. No offense meant, but it's a wary time in Saltmarsh, what with all sorts passing through these days."

The guards remain standing firm, their aged eyes scrutinizing the party. They seem poised between duty and the need for a few extra coins or a sip from a flask to loosen their tongues.

fizzkilk pauses, considers if its worth it, and chooses to speak "no offense taken, on my part at least. i know well enough my kind isnt well liked, and for good enough reason too i suppose" he turns to the others "any of you remember if that lady told us about a lord othmor, and how the lady is related to him? i was busy being distrustfull"

“Well, I can vouch for these two, they have proved themselves worthy.   I am wondering if there’s a special gate fee or something to allow us to come in together?”.  Eldon says, as he reaches for his belt pouch.  

Narrakas for his part just shrugs without looking to Fizzkilk, as the petty circumstances of longshank  tall folk rarely mattered beyond how it might affect his own payment or immediate inconvenience. But he does at least begin to relax, if only just, seeing the lack of immediate hostility in the guards eyes. Reflected in his own was even a measure of pity. But having guzzled his own drink and accidentally left behind the flask, he could do nothing -- well, couldn't be bothered to do more than stand there with his arms crossed while watching the proceedings.

Quote from willow_ivyleaf >>

fizzkilk pauses, considers if its worth it, and chooses to speak "no offense taken, on my part at least. i know well enough my kind isnt well liked, and for good enough reason too i suppose" he turns to the others "any of you remember if that lady told us about a lord othmor, and how the lady is related to him? i was busy being distrustfull"

Upon Fizzkilk uttering a sound, the guard's eyes focus on him; his body remaining motionless. As the orc continues to speak, the guard's eyes soften. The guard's heartbeat pause on Fizzkilk's last words to them is followed by the acknowledging down-up nod of his head.

Quote from Tesservett >>

“Well, I can vouch for these two, they have proved themselves worthy.   I am wondering if there’s a special gate fee or something to allow us to come in together?”.  Eldon says, as he reaches for his belt pouch.  

Eldon's attempt to smooth the way with a supposed fee is met with an unexpected reaction from the grey-bearded guard. His eyes widen in mild shock, a hint of wounded pride evident in his expression. "Fee, eh? We're not some uppity city like Waterdeep, lad," he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

However, before Eldon's diplomatic maneuver can sour the atmosphere, the second guard, a bit more amenable to the idea, steps forward. "Now, now, no need for offense," he interjects with a friendly grin. "We ain't got no official gate fee, but we do appreciate folks showing concern for the safety and well-being of Saltmarsh. You know, we do our best to keep things in order around here, and a little contribution to the 'Silver Guard Fund' can go a long way in helping us out."

He gestures toward a small, weathered box affixed to the gatepost, where other travelers might have dropped coins or the occasional flask of spirits. "Just a little something to keep the town running smoothly and protect it from any unsavory business."

Narrakas makes a face as if he just ate a lemon. Which considering most goblins can or are willing to eat just about anything with delight on their face is perhaps an odd sight to see. Despite his own displeasure however, the goblin began examining the guards for a few moments and even whatever passed as fortification. "Silver Bars pretty heavy, come to think. If only we had a spare..." He says while side-eying Eldon with both a meaningful and yet somehow look, as if even the hint hurt to speak aloud for him. Even so, the goblin press on. "Would certainly be very useful to getting better armor, or even really fixing things up. Ain't that right guardsman?" He asks, looking to the last man to speak.

The mention of "Silver Bars" causes a notable shift in the guard's demeanor. His eyes widen with a hint of interest, and he glances between Narrakas and the box for the Silver Guard Fund. There's a flicker of reluctant concession in his expression, as if he's about to divulge a local secret.

"Well, you see," he begins, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, "the 'Silver Guard Fund' is more of a suggestion than a rule. Donations, they help, for sure. And while we're always glad for a bit of coin or whatever folks can spare, we don't turn away well-meaning travelers just 'cause their pockets ain't jingling."

He shoots a quick look to his comrade, who seems a bit annoyed at the breach of what should be an unwritten rule. The guard continues, "So, if you've got a spare gold piece or two, feel free to drop 'em in. But we won't stop you from passing through if your pouch is feeling a bit light. Just keep Saltmarsh safe in your hearts, aye?"

With that, he nods, as if satisfied with his explanation, and gestures for the party to proceed.

Mardigan gives his companions a nod, and drops 2 gold coins in the box as he passes on into town.

Narrakas breathes a sigh of relief, and without hesitance or looking back, immediately began waltzing through the gate without offering a single coin. In fact, if he notices the guards noticing his sudden lack of further generosity on his way through, he just gestures back at whoever happened to be behind him, as if to say 'they got me covered'. But all again without looking back... until a thought occurred him to ask of whichever guard happens to be nearby in the moment, "You not heard of Lady Othmor, but what of recent people traveling to Saltmarsh. Should've been almost been almost a small contin... contun.... ehg, grouping of people with one fancy looking woman with them. Ring any bells? They couldn't have been more than a day or two ahead of us."

The posture of the guards melts with the warm glint of gold, a smile spreading across their faces. "Welcome to Saltmarsh! Just go along this road till you come to the Wicker Goat. After that, the Othmor estate will be the third drive on the left."

with a friendly nod fizzkilk fishes around in his coin pouch, and finding precious little, drops six silver into the box with a wry smile on his way past. better than the last town at least, and they had the decency to pretend it was optional.

"right, third on th' left. should be easy enough to find. oh, and ill need to find some strong twine later, peace binding for me axe, makes people nervous otherwise"

The party continues down the path into town. They pass a sturdy stone building built on a low hill. This solid structure is posted as the town Barracks and Jail. A little further on, across the road, they see an old, but busy tavern. In the small yard before it is displayed the latest manifestation of the tavern's namesake, a statue of a goat made out of wicker. It is weather-worn, with pieces of the wicker fallen away, revealing gaps in the structure. About the goat's neck is a bell and a worn blue cap has been haphazardly cocked on its head.

Continuing on, the party passes a few more offshoots from the main path, until they come to one over which shadows a wooden arch. The arch itself appears to be well made with ornate carvings of an old-fashioned style. Large letters are carved at the top of the arch under faded heraldry: OTHMOR. 

Beyond the arch the path leads to several buildings and a grounds which have clearly not been kept up for at least a season. There appear to be no servants around outside tending to the property. The main building is deeper than it is wide, the primary entrance near the road being on one of the narrow faces with the rest of the building extending far back from it. Before this primary entrance there is a porch which stretches the entire front of the house. It clearly was also well made with minimalistic but stately wooden railing, however it too shows the signs of neglect. A fine layer of gray dirt has dried onto the planks and some creatures have built a nest in the corner of the railing.

"Huh... Looks like they weren't kidding. Place looks almost as good as a goblin's nest!" Narrakas remarks before letting out a chuckle. "Still, hmm, maybe.... maybe she hasn't gotten a chance to really sort things out? Or... hmm... Eh, fudge it. I'm still going up. Worst thing that can happen is the 'Lord' croaked, and best thing that can happen is some manservant left might be able to redirect us." On that note, the goblin would begin the march up towards the main building with a confident step, and a readiness to hiss away any critters that might come too close for comfort on the way. Then if all went well from there, he knock hard on the door for either close to half a minute or until someone comes to at least answer.

Mardigan will nod in agreement to the goblin's words, and follow doing explore activity. Looking for anything that might give a clue to what's happened here. He is slightly on edge, but doesn't know why.

Nature 8 or society 5 

Ooc and my amazing rolls continue :-P

((Mardigan survey's the visible nature around the estate: an uncut lawn, untimmed hedges, unpruned fruit trees - all support the impression that no one has been caring for the grounds for a while))

Narrakas, still grumbling under his breath, reaches up to the door knocker and swings it heavily several times against the solid doors.

Midway through one of his swings, the door pulls away, causing the knocker to fall once more with a thud. Standing in the door is a thin, elderly manservant in dated, but well kept livery.

"Good day.", he draws out as a statement and a question.

The corner of Narrakas eyes began to twitch, but after a moment or two of mastering his nerves, he sucks in a deep breath.... and lets it all out. "Hi. Is the lord of the house in? Or the lady? We heard, er, have on good word that she had returned to saltmarsh or made plans to do so with quite the entourage  with her. Any chance an old block er, bloke like yourself knows anything of the sort and could help us find them."

As Narrakas speaks, the servant's eyes refocus, taking in the party as if for the first time.

"Ah, yes. Lady Othmor did mention that a party of," he pauses scanning the party again, "your description might present themselves. Lady Othmor is out at the moment, however, I can see if Lord Othmor is available to see you, if you will follow me."

He holds open the door as he steps to the side so the party can enter. He gestures for the party to all come into the entry.

The interior continues the old display of wealth in the ornate moldings and painted details and frescos. However, the walls themselves appear starkly spartan, with unfaded patches showing where paintings and wall hangings were once born upon them. The furniture is also at a minimum, with no statues or other mobile adornments.

The servant guides the party down the hall to a receiving room, which like the rest of the house thus far, has a sparsity of furnishings. Three chairs and a small table are all that fill this room.

The servant leaves the party here, closing the door behind him.

Hmm seems times are tight for the Othmor's,? Or perhaps we're here to recover some missing furnature... Mardigan laughs at his own crude joke. But seriously did you guys get the impression things are not well here. missing portraits, lack of furniture,  over grown yard?,

It is but a little while when out in the hall are murmurings as if someone were rather put out or anxious.

" ... Ohhh fine. Yes. Yes. Leave me alone... Sssshhhhh!" are all the words you catch as the voices dwindle.

A soft sound, like sand accompanies the smallest of movements opening the door a crack. An eye seems to peer in taking in the party. 

The door is flung open, by an arm robed in a sumptuous, if threadbare, housecoat. The arm belongs to a gaunt, but athletic but pale gentleman. From the way he moves, his thinness and palor appear not from lack of activity, but rather seemingly from a lifestyle. He enters with a jovial giggle, pushing his long, bed-kempt hair back from his face. He has very clearly been risen from bed for this meeting, despite the late hour.

"Ahhh! You must be sister's adventurers! Welcome, welcome. Forgive the state of things. Renovating." tumble the words as this person glides into the room, letting the servant close the door quietly behind.

"I am her brother, Lord Othmor. You must tell me all about your adventures!" He says with a clap.

fizzkilk finally speaks up "stalked a troll" he reports "this poor sap decided to fight it, so i stepped in" he continues, gesturing to mardigan "then this lot showed up, and we collectively were being killed when someone, presumably lady othmor, torched the thing, cursed me too sleep, and one of the others can continue from here" he steps back, standing aside for someone else to continue the ale of their so called adventures "these lot seem to be a group, and they let me join after we all woke up"