The year is 1491. Neverwinter, also known as the City of Skilled Hands and Jewel of the North, is rising from the ashes. Lord Neverember’s efforts to restore Neverwinter’s glory are paying off, and she is slowly being reestablished as a center of civilization in the Sword Coast North. Neverwinter is a city full of opportunities, and as word spreads, merchants from both the North and the southern lands are becoming interested in trading with the city once again. The population count is rising in response. Where once it was a simple task for anyone willing to get their hands dirty to find an honest day's work, now with so many competing for the same jobs, many are finding it difficult to get work. Employers can afford to pick and choose who will labor for them. And sometimes that means a sacking ... or five.

“I’m making some changes,” the haughty half-elf says, unable to conceal her look of disdain as she looks at the line of dwarves in front of her. Four had just shown up for work and the fifth, the night watchman, had been asked to stick around following his shift. Having just purchased Stillwell’s, no one knew what to expect from the new owner. Clearly, she had something against dwarves. The five males represented the entirety of the race that worked at the factory. “You are all being let go,” she continues. She turns her back on the stunned dwarves and walks around the desk — old man Stillwell’s desk — that dominates the small office. As she faces them again, she places one thin hand on her hip. “Well? Go on.”

Karl’s fists had been clinching and unclinching. As he lunges toward the desk, Einar and Vondal grab the taller dwarf’s arms, halting his forward progress. The half-elf’s look of fear melts into disgust and then anger. “Get out before I call the Guard,” she hisses.

Despite the temperate climate, the pleasant hum of activity common midmorning, the smells of delicious meats being prepared for the noontime meal, and the usual prospect a new month generally brings, the streets of Neverwinter seem dank, dismal, and defeating for the five formerly-employed dwarves: Bron, Einar, Karl, Nifeltay and Vondal. The group seems to slump through town, heading for the Brawling Bard, their regular tavern.

The five dwarves enter the perpetually warm, generally inviting building, some half-heartedly acknowledging the barkeep’s greeting. Tess is a blond-headed human woman with a pleasing figure: an ample bosom and wide hips. She’s dressed in green and brown today, her long hair tied back with a leather thong at her neck.

“What brings you folks to the Bard this early?” she asks, her face full of joy, and her hands already pouring drinks. “Did you forget this is the first day of Leaffall?” she teases. “You’ve got another three tendays before the Feast of the Moon.” She sets the mugs on a tray on the bar as she fills them.

Before anyone can reply to Tess, the door to the street opens again and a sixth dwarf enters. Gundren Rockseeker, a middle-aged dwarf of slightly-taller-than-average stature and loaded down with a large pack, marches in with a big smile. Looking at the five briefly, then scanning the room for someone else, he says, “I thought I saw you lot coming in.” He finishes his inspection and heads to join his kin. “What are you doing here this time of day?” he asks, removing his large pack and borrowing a chair from a neighboring table to sit at the only full table. “Early lunch?”

Karl turns to Gundren and growls "Got laid off. Getting to be a bit of a habit as that's twice in 12 months, once for a good reason and once for no good reason!"

A reminder:

Bron walks in, a nervous wreck. His bright red hair is a frizzy mess, and he keeps fiddling with his mustache, twisting and pulling at it. Jurging by the short tufted mess that the other half of his mustache is, it seems he pulled a bit too hard. He repeatedly glances over to whatever is in a sack that he is carrying. If anyone looks at it, they feel a slight chill, as if there was something crawling up their back. They hear a faint ringing in their ears, one which slowly grows in sound until they have to look away.

Bron mutters to himself and looks at his hands, then back to the sack. He sits down, silent.

Karl turns to Bron and says "Bron, what's in the bag? Mine" he kicks his backpack - against which is leaning a large double-handed club with silver bands on it - "has just got camping and assorted stuff."

At Karl's words, Einar, Nifeltay and Vondal seem to be shaken out of their funk for a second to look at Bron. The bag was new. As was Bron's fidgetiness. Walking over with the tray of mugs, Tess frowns at Karl. "Laid off? All five of ya?" she asks, looking around at each of the dwarves. "What's Stillwell up to?" asks Gundren.

"Some half pointy ear has bought the business Tess" Karl says. "Gunna make some changes she says" he continues. "You know you can't trust 'em its in their blood to be devious" he grumbles. He looks up at Tess and quickly says "Not your blood Tess, but the pointy-ear blood 's what ya can't trust!"

Bron ignores Karl's question, giving him a sharp glare.

"Aye. Stillwell's deid as a doornail."

(Yes I'm going to give Bron an over-the-top accent fight me.)

Vondal was actually rather chill about things. Mostly. He kept an eye on Karl as much as he could, but after Tess's greeting, well... it was off to La la land as usual. "Vhew~ That was-... Huh? Did it just get cold in here for a moment?" He asks of no one in particular while glancing about in his fading but still noticeable hill dwarf(Russian) accent. "Oh come now, Uncle. This is not so bad. We still have our health, my Tess,  our comradery, uhm…. Gundrun here too!" He claims gesturing flamboyantly to said dwarf. "And.... okay, she could have at least given an actual explanation." Vondal uneasily admits.

(Since you insist, I refuse. But if anyone got a problem with a Russian speaking dwarf, come at me.)

Einar doesn't speak hardly at all after the sacking. Aside from semi-frequent glances at Karl or one of the others who raise their voice, Einar seems as though he is thinking hard about something. 

When Karl mentions bags, Einar looks up and around the table for a few seconds.

"On the note of bags, what you got in your's Gundren? You headin' off somewhere?"

Gundren takes a draft from his mug and looks at Einar as he addresses the group. “As much as it pains me to hear about your unfair treatment, I think that wurgym may have done me a favor.” He leans forward, placing his thick forearms on the tabletop. “We are needing to hire some hands to take a wagon of supplies south to Phandalin tomorrow. I’ll be leaving for the town myself shortly — just as soon as my escort gets here — but the supplies won’t be ready until the morning. If you lot would like the job, it would save Raph the trouble of finding others.” Gundren speaks of Raphlane, the elderly human who assists the Gundren brothers in running the Three Picks Delving Co. None of the five have ever met Raph, but the brothers always speak lovingly of him, and enjoy sharing stories of the old man’s occasional bumblings.

“What do you say?” Gundren asks, smiling around the table. “Will you escort a wagon of supplies for me? It would really help us out.” He pulls out a purse and looks inside without waiting for an answer. “The job pays 10 gold each, but I can go ahead and give you half in advance in case you’d like to pick up a few supplies for the trip. It’ll take about three days each way. I know this is not your usual line of work, but you shouldn’t have any trouble. The High Road is well traveled and very safe. And you’ll hardly be on the Triboar Trail before you’ll find yourself in Phandalin.” The dwarf’s been making little stacks of gold coins, five in each, as he talked. When he has five short pillars of gold in front of him — one for each of his friends — he smiles around the table once again. “What do you say?”

"Ten gold for six days on the road? Hhmn…" Einar crosses his arms and strokes his beard while looking out the window for a moment. 

"Ya know what? I haven't been outside the city in all the six years I been here. I think I'll take ya up on that. Fresh air might do me some good after today." The Dwarf stands and moves closer to the window to get a better look at the sky. 

OOC: What time of year is it exactly?

"Weel, we cannae say nae, can we? We're out of a job, an' we cannae sustain ourselves on the money we've saved up for long. I'm up for it."

Gundren smiles at Einar and leans in, speaking in a hushed tone. "I might have a little more work for you once you get to Phandalin." He looks around the room to check he's not being overheard. The gesture is a little amusing since the only other occupants are Tess, who's back behind the bar and not paying attention to the table of dwarves, and a gentleman sitting in the corner whose chin is resting against his chest with his eyes closed. "We may have finally found something we've been looking for for quite some time. I'm not ready to talk about it just now," he says quickly. "Just know that there might more where this came from," he says, nodding toward the small stacks of gold coins with a gleam in his eye.

Vondal raises a brow at the offer and crosses his arms over his chest, but wasn't quite as vocal about his excitement. Intrigued, yes, but always a little on the skeptical side, if only by appearance.   "Uncle Karl? Nif? What say you about all this?" He asks, in spite probably already knowing the answer. Once the duo have given it, he puts on a show of grudgingly accepting the coin with a "Bah! It's bout time I really stretch the legs."

Nif looks at the stacks of gold with a gleam in his eye, the he turns to Vondal, "Well I dunno about you, but I have already spent too many years of this life hungry and unemployed, to not accept his generous offer." Nif then turns to Gundren, "You can count me in my friend."

"Well we can't sit around 'ere doin' nuttin' I'm in" says Karl to the group. He looks at Gundren and says "now what about travelling expenses like food and beer, especially beer, when were on the road - does that come out of this too?"

"Now see here," Einar almost gets gruff as he turns back to the table from looking out the window.

"I don't mean to up and abandon this city without cause. 'Might be more' ain't good enough in my book. I'll gladly escort this cart of yours, but beyond that, I make no promises. Ya' hear?"

Einar reaches for the pipe he keeps at his belt and quickly lights it, taking a deep draw from it. He then looks back at Gundren with a half raised eyebrow. 

"When and where should we meet this cart in the mornin'?"

"Oh, and whilst I am happy to escort this car, last I checked we are factory workers, or were... Are we provided with weapons or a budget to acquire any?"Nif asks Gundren.

Gundren takes in the comments and questions with a pleased look on his face. "Brothers, you know we are friends. We've shared many a night here at the ole Bard. We've drunk together, played together, and sung together. I've even cleaned up after a couple of you," he says with a wink. "Jobs are scarce in Neverwinter these days. I know because I have to turn down at least three blokes come beggin' for a job each day. Some of you haven't looked for work in a while, blessed with a steady job as you've been. I want to keep my friends employed, so I'm glad you've agreed to escort the supplies to Phandalin. This job could lead to more. I may be able to use you, and there are some new opportunities coming up in Phandalin. That town's just starting to be brought back to life like Neverwinter has been. But you're under no obligation to stay in that backwoods town," Gundren says, nodding to Einar. "And I'm afraid this is as much as I can do for you," he says to Karl. "Ten per. Five in advance. As for weapons, we've got some at the Three Picks you can borrow for the job. I don't think you'll need them, but I guess it is better to be safe than sorry."

The Bard’s front door opens and the silhouette of a tall humanoid stands in the doorway. “Gundren,” a smooth voice says simply.

The sixth dwarf looks over his shoulder at the door and then stands and gathers his pack. Looking around the table, he says, “Just go by the Three Picks first thing tomorrow. Raph will get you set up. I’ll see you in Phandalin in three days.” Placing a small stack of silver coins on the table, he says more loudy, "Tess, here's five silver to cover these drinks and a refill if any of these fine dwarves want one. Keep the change." He gives everyone at the table a big smile. “Thanks again, friends. Safe travels,” he says, a little distracted. He walks to the door and follows the silhouette out, the door closing with a thump behind them.