The Sunset Vale Saga

Chapter 1 - Arrivals

Berdusk, The Sunset Vale

Early Evening, 19^th Day of Eleint, Year of the Tankard (1370 DR)

Berdusk. The Jewel of the Sunset Vale. Located where the Uldoon Trail crosses the upper Chionthar River, the city is a natural landmark and trading center. Barges and mills line the city’s waterways. An oval-shaped rough stone wall, pierced by a total of six gates, encloses the city. Within its walls, tall, steep-roofed stone houses crowd close together and overhang the cobbled streets.

It is autumn in the Sunset Vale. The leaves of the hardwood trees have started to turn, as the temperature has become cooler and the days longer. The time of harvest is nearing and citizens of every race are preparing for another winter.

Earlier today, you visited Clearspring Tor -- the rocky, tree-sprouting hill, located near the center of the city. The Tor serves as a city park and was crowded with an assortment of vendors, merchants, shoppers, the occasional well-armed and alert patrol from the city guard and, in the greatest number, those simply looking for a relaxing spot to stroll or meet others. It was there that you heard the herald announcing the hiring of caravan guards -- the opportunity for which you have been waiting.

The announcement specified that you were to meet at Blackpost’s Bench Tankard House. You have spent the afternoon asking passersby for directions to this locale. Eventually, you make your way to Steelsword Street, an east-west running road in the northern section of Berdusk. Following the directions you were given, you locate Blackpost’s Bench just as the light is beginning to fade from the sky with the approach of evening. Blackpost’s Bench is a tankard house located on the north side of the street; Bellowbar’s Gate, one of the six main city gates, lies about a bowshot to the west.

Standing outside, you detect the faint whiff of two of Berdusk’s trademark products: Berduskan Dark, a highly flavored sweet wine much like a very dark amber sherry, which is heavy and burning to the tongue; and Goldenstars: triangular, egg-bread loaves stuffed with sausage, chopped tubers, and chicken sauce. The sounds of music, laughter and conversation emanate from within.

Stepping up to the door of the tankard house, you reach out and pull it open. You step inside as the door swings shut behind you on well-oiled hinges.

Glancing around to get your bearings, you see that this taproom is about 60’ wide and 50’ deep. The door you entered from is near the southwestern corner of the south wall. To your right is a U-Shaped bar, behind which stands a bulky human male dressed in loose fitting clothing and a stained apron. To your immediate left is the west wall. There are two doors in this wall, set close together at about the midway point. A sturdy-looking male gnome, dressed in a tunic and breeches with a dagger on his belt, stands just outside the southern-most door. He holds a rolled parchment in one hand and a quill pen in the other. He looks in your direction and frowns as you enter the taproom.

Two male halflings are engaged in a game of darts along the west wall, using one of two dartboards that are located in the northwest corner of the north wall. A half-eaten tray of Goldenstars rests on a nearby table. Near the center of the north wall is a large stone fireplace with a small fire burning inside. A 15’x15’ raised wooden stage is located in the northeastern corner of the room. A female moon elf clad in various shades of blue sits upon a wooden stool and sings in a beautiful language while strumming a harp. The southeast corner of the taproom is walled off and contains a swinging door through which a serving maiden enters as you glance around.

There are five tables located in the room and customers already occupy most of them. Three human males dressed in the uniform of the city guard occupy one table, located between the kitchens and the stage. They divide their attention between the elven minstrel and a serving maiden who stands at their table.

A lone bearded human dressed in robes and sipping on a steaming mug occupies the table located between the stage and the fireplace. A human couple occupies another table near the stage; they appear to be interested only in each other and are practically oblivious to their surroundings.

The remaining two tables are empty – with the exception of the aforementioned tray of Goldenstars.

* * * * *

{Cyzicus}

Cyzicus is dressed in a pair of gray breeches and bright yellow shirt but, like most halflings, has kept his feet bare. His long brown hair is topped by a cap of deep indigo, which matches his cloak. He is wearing his baldric and belt, which together hold two small belt pouches, a short sword, and a pair of daggers.

Cy enters Blackpost’s Bench and finds a seat at the open table near the fireplace. He keeps an eye out for his potential employer while ordering a meal of goldenstars and a mug of ale, as he doesn't want to become intoxicated on the Berduskan Dark prior to his upcoming interview.

As he waits for his order to arrive, he sees a young man enter the tavern. Barely out of his adolescence, he stands 5'6" tall, and has sandy hair and blue eyes. He wears old faded clothes that have been patched in lots of places. A spear is in his right hand; a simple dagger is at his left hip and two small belt pouches are on his right. His appearance is rather unkempt, but there is a feral look in his eyes that belies the boyish-looking charm he exudes. A large canine pads silently along with him.

The barkeep looks up as the boy walks in and says something to him – the exact words are lost in the din of the minstrel’s music and the other patrons’ conversations. The boy turns to the large dog and appears to growl at it. The large canine turns, pushes open the door with his snout, and exits the tavern. The boy holds another brief exchange with the bartender who replies with a gesture at the gnome near the double doors and a sweeping motion – coupled with a smile – that takes in the remainder of the tavern.

At that point, the barmaid reappears at Cy’s table and places a tray of goldenstars and a mug of ale in front of the halfling priest.

As Cyzicus begins his meal, finding that the goldenstars truly ARE delightful. As he does, he watches the young man reply to the bartender and approach the gnome. The two have a brief discussion and then the gnome uses his quill to write on the parchment. The gnome says something else, gesturing to the northernmost door on the western wall. At that point, Cy’s attention is interrupted by a commotion at the other side of the tavern.

* * * * *

{Darius}

Darius growls to Soft-Fang (in wolf speak), <Leave city soon. Back to road. Guard large carts.> Soft-Fang growls a positive response, he's been jittery in the city environs.

Sniffing the air, both Darius and Soft-Fang yip, “bad smells.”

Darius speaks to Soft-Fang, <Come with me, growl not, quiet.> With a 'you have got to be kidding look' Soft-Fang pads up and bumps Darius in the back of the leg to hurry him on. Shrugging, they both enter.

The young man enters the tavern. He stands 5'6" tall, and has sandy hair and blue eyes. He wears old faded clothes that have been patched in lots of places. A spear is in his right hand; a simple dagger is at his left hip and two small belt pouches are on his right. His appearance is rather unkempt, but there is a feral look in his eyes that belies the boyish-looking charm he exudes. A large canine pads silently along with him.

The barkeep looks up as Darius walks in and says, “Evenin' lad. I'll have to be tellin' ya to leave yer dog ootside. Health inspecters 'n all, ya know.”

Darius turns to the wolf at his side, and yips and growls at it (in wolf speak), <Wait outside, Darius return soon>. Turning to the bartender, he replies, "Soft-Fang will wait outside for me."

After telling Soft-Fang to wait outside, Darius turns to the bartender, “Who is hiring the caravan guards?”

The barkeep stops wiping the top of the bar with a rag and gestures with a nod toward the gnome standing near the pair of doors. “That litul’ ‘un there seems ta be waitin’ fer someone – he’s got one o’ the private party rooms set aside fer the evenin’. Paid with platinum, he did!” Smiling and jerking his head in the direction of the other customers, the barkeep says, “I dinna think the rest of this lot are much interested in work tonite! Can I be gettin’ ya a litul’ somethin’ ‘fore you get ta conversin’?”

“Aye, good man, he does seem to be the only one waiting for someone” replies Darius with a knowing smile at the barkeep. "Nay, I'll not be needing anything right now. Perhaps later if I get the job."

The barkeep shrugs, saying “Suit yerself laddie. Good luck with yer job.” He then returns to wiping the top of the bar with his rag.

Walking over to the gnome, Darius asks, “Sir, this afternoon at Clearspring Tor a heralder announced the hiring of caravan guards at this establishment. Are you the person to see?” He then waits for an answer.

The gnome looks up at Darius and replies in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “Yes, my good sir, it is. I have been given the task of greeting our prospects and giving them their instructions. Let me simply have your name and then you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name sir?” The gnome glances up at Darius expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

Darius gives the gnome his name and the gnome repeats it for clarification. Then, the diminutive scribe uses the quill to make markings on the parchment – which the young druid cannot decipher – and says, “Well then, Mr. Darius, please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

Opening the door, Darius enters a room that is roughly 15’ east-west by about 30’ north-south. He has entered at the southernmost portion of the east wall; there are no other apparent exits. A large, oval, oaken table dominates the center of the room. Spaced evenly around the table are eleven oak chairs - there are no chairs at the southern tip of the table.

* * * * *

{Cyzicus}

Glancing over to the table with the guards, Cyzicus sees that the barmaid is squirming on the lap of one of the human men. After a short struggle, she frees herself and proceeds to apply the back of her hand to the man’s face. The man’s companions laugh and restrain him from reacting as the barmaid huffs and walks over to serve the lone human in the corner near the fireplace. When Cy turns back , the young man is no longer visible.

The rest of Cy’s meal is rather uneventful and when he has finished, he lights his pipe and enjoys a bit of people-watching while he waits. Soon, he sees another patron enter the tavern. This time, it is a very attractive human female wrapped in a plain blue cloak. The hood is rumpled down around her neck, letting her long red hair breathe and flow across the back of her shoulders and the top of the leather pack she is wearing on her back. Cyzicus can barely make out a hint of a white tunic underneath the blue fabric and her brown breeches flow naturally into the soft leather boots upon her feet. The hilt of small dagger can just be seen peeking out of the boot on her left side and another dagger rests quietly in its sheath on the right side of her belt, opposite a rather worn leather pouch.

The woman walks closer toward the male gnome, a simple wooden staff in her left hand ornamented only by a unadorned iron band near the top. She stops about two feet before him, smiles softly, and speaks to him. The gnome responds to the young woman and then, after the woman has spoken again, he again uses his quill to write something on the scroll. The gnome and the woman hold a brief discussion at the end of which , the gnome gestures again at the northern door.

The woman nods, walks to the door, and opens it outward into the tavern. Cyzicus is able to catch a glimpse of an east-west running wall just beyond the door before the woman closes the door behind her.

* * * * *

{Kjira}

Kjira enters the tavern wrapped in a plain blue cloak. The hood is rumpled down around her neck, letting her long red hair breathe and flow across the back of her shoulders and the top of the leather pack she is wearing on her back. One can barely make out a hint of a white tunic underneath the blue fabric and her brown breeches flow naturally into the soft leather boots upon her feet. The hilt of small dagger can just be seen peeking out of the boot on her left side and another dagger rests quietly in its sheath on the right side of her belt, opposite a rather worn leather pouch.

Kjira walks closer toward the male gnome, a simple wooden staff in her left hand ornamented only by a unadorned iron band near the top. She stops about two feet before him, smiles softly, and addresses him in gnomish.

The gnome face lights up as he smiles up at Kjira and responds in gnomish, <Good evening, miss. You have surmised correctly – I am here to get the names of those interested. May I have yours?>

As he asks the question, the gnome readies the quill in his hand and prepares to write on the rolled parchment. He looks up at Kjira expectantly.

A look of relief quickly washes across Kjira's face, obviously glad that her trip to the Blackpost Bench was not wasted.

<Certainly. I am called Kjira. Kjira Coh. And I am most interested in the opportunity. By chance do you have any more information on the work being offered? The herald in Clearspring Tor had little to say.>

The gnome repeats Kjira’s name for clarification and then transcribes it – in Common, Kjira notices – onto the parchment. Kjira notices that there is one other name already on the list before the gnome says, “I’m sorry, Miss Kjira, but you will have to wait for my master to provide that information. He will be along shortly once we have received enough applications. Now, if you would please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

Opening the door, Kjira enters a room that is roughly 15’ east-west by about 30’ north-south. She has entered at the southernmost portion of the east wall; there are no other apparent exits. A large, oval, oaken table dominates the center of the room. Spaced evenly around the table are eleven oak chairs - there are no chairs at the southern tip of the table. There is one other occupant in the room – a young man, barely out of his adolescence, sits in the chair nearest the door. He has sandy hair and blue eyes. He wears old faded clothes that have been patched in lots of places. A simple dagger is at his left hip, two small belt pouches are on his right, and a spear rests against the wall nearby. His appearance is rather unkempt, but there is a feral look in his eyes that belies the boyish-looking charm he exudes.

* * * * *

{Cyzicus}

Cyzicus continues to take in his surrounding and enjoy his pipe. When the tobacco begins to run low, he summons the barmaid over and asks “I'm here to speak to somebody looking for some caravan guards. I don't suppose you'd happen to know who that might be”

The barmaid smiles at Cy. “Well sir,” she says, “I can’t say I know of any caravan masters, but I DO know that that little one over there has set aside the big party room for the ‘eve.” The barmaid makes a subtle gesture with her eyes in the direction of the gnome. “If ye be finished for the evenin’ sir, I’ll be needin’ two coppers for the food ‘n drink. Unless you’ll be wantin, another tankard, that is?”

Cyzicus settles his bill with the barmaid and then stands up from the table. He approaches the gnome and says, "Good day to you. I'm here to inquire about the caravan guard work which was announced on the Tor earlier today."

The gnome smiles at Cyzicus and responds in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “And a good evening to you, sir. I am happy to report that you have come to the correct location. If you will simply give me your name, you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name sir?” The gnome glances up at Cy expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

Cyzicus gives the gnome his name and the gnome repeats it for clarification. Then, the diminutive scribe uses the quill to transcribe it – in Common, Cy notices – onto the parchment. When he has finished writing, the gnome says, “Well then, Master Cyzicus, please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

Opening the door, Cy enters a room that is roughly 15’ east-west by about 30’ north-south. He has entered at the southernmost portion of the east wall; there are no other apparent exits. A large, oval, oaken table dominates the center of the room. Spaced evenly around the table are eleven oak chairs - there are no chairs at the southern tip of the table.

There are two other occupants in the room – the two young humans, one male, one female, that he saw conversing with the gnome earlier. They sit roughly across from each other at the southernmost chairs at the table and appear to be involved in casual conversation.

* * * * *

{Lucas}

Lucas is a tan-skinned human male in his mid twenties; he appears to stand at 71” tall and weigh just over 170 pounds. His dirty blond hair is complemented by his steel-gray eyes. He is dressed in red robes with a white sash. A backpack is slung over his right shoulder and he carries a staff in his left hand. His feet are clad in low, soft, leather boots and are barely visible under his robes. Under his sash he wears a belt, attached to which are a large belt pouch on the left side and a sheath of darts on the right.

Lucas immediately approaches the gnome by the side door and says, “Greetings. Are you taking names for the caravan? If so, I would like to sign up. When and where do we leave?”

The gnome smiles at Lucas and responds in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “And a good evening to you, sir. I am happy to report that you have come to the correct location. If you will simply give me your name, you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name sir?” The gnome glances up at Lucas expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

Lucas gives his name to the gnome who then repeats it for clarification and then transcribes it – in Common, Lucas notices – onto the parchment. Glancing down as the gnome writes, Lucas notices that there are three other names already on the list before the gnome says, “I’m sorry, Master Lucas, but you will have to wait for my master to provide the information you seek. He will be along shortly once we have received enough applications. Now, if you would please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

Lucas nods at the gnomes instructions. Enroute to the northern most door, he detours by to stop and place an order with the serving wench. "Mulled wine and a fare of chicken with vegetables, please," adds Lucas with a smile to the lady. Lucas proceeds to the northern most door and opens it. Looking inside quickly to make sure this is the right one before walking in.

Lucas enters a room that is roughly 15’ east-west by about 30’ north-south. He has entered at the southernmost portion of the east wall; there are no other apparent exits. A large, oval, oaken table dominates the center of the room. Spaced evenly around the table are eleven oak chairs - there are no chairs at the southern tip of the table. There are three other occupants in the room.

A young man, barely out of his adolescence, sits in the chair nearest the door. He has sandy hair and blue eyes. He wears old faded clothes that have been patched in lots of places. A simple dagger is at his left hip, two small belt pouches are on his right, and a spear rests against the wall nearby. His appearance is rather unkempt, but there is a feral look in his eyes that belies the boyish-looking charm he exudes.

A very attractive young woman, wrapped in a plain blue cloak, sits roughly across from the feral young man. The hood is rumpled down around her neck, letting her long red hair breathe and flow across the back of her shoulders and the top of the leather pack she is wearing on her back. Lucas can see that there is a hint of a white tunic underneath the blue fabric and that her brown breeches flow naturally into the soft leather boots upon her feet. The hilt of small dagger can just be seen peeking out of the boot on her left side and another dagger rests quietly in its sheath on the right side of her belt, opposite a rather worn leather pouch. A simple wooden staff ornamented only by an unadorned iron band near the top rests against the wall near her. She is currently using out a wooden brush, the handle the color of dark honey, with creamy bristles to comb her hair.

The third occupant of the room, a male halfling, sits at the southwest corner of the table -- to the woman’s immediate right and directly across from the young man. He is dressed in a pair of gray breeches and bright yellow shirt but, like most halflings, has kept his feet bare. His long brown hair is topped by a cap of deep indigo, which matches his cloak. He is wearing a baldric and belt, which together hold two small belt pouches, a short sword, and a pair of daggers.

The three appeared to be involved in conversation. They pause as Lucas enters, looking in his direction.

* * * * *

{Zell}

Zell enters wearing a long, dark, cassock-like garment and knee high soft boots. Those looking closely notice bulges here and there in the long robe-like clothing -- two long pointed objects appear to swing from her sides under the long garment. Her facial features appear to be elven.

Zell looks around the room and finds the two halflings in a dart game interesting and goes over

where she can find a seat and watch the pair. She chooses a seat at the open table fireplace, facing toward the west with her right side toward the hearth.

Soon, the barmaiden makes her way to the table. “Good evenin’, m’lady,” the girl says, “might I be getting’ you a bit of food or drink?”

Zell responds without viewing the barmaid, “Nay, ma'am. I'm fine,......for now. I'll holler when I need something, ok??” With that, Zell continues to watch the halflings and pulls out her dagger unknowingly and twirls it in her fingers.

The barmaid shrugs saying, “As you wish M’Lady,” and walks away to serve other customers.

* * * * *

{Alani and Zell}

The Elven woman that walks through the doorway is tall (approx 5 ½’), sleekly built with finely chiseled muscles. She has dark olive skin and black shoulder length hair, which she wears in long tail, bound by a simple platinum loop. She is fiercely beautiful with dark eyes and elegant features. She wears a long dark brown hooded cloak that conceals her slim figure dressed in comfortable, neutral-colored riding clothes favored by the aristocracy. Supple, thigh-high black leather boots complete the picture. Her clothes show recent signs of travel.

The belt at her waist carries a sheathed dagger and contains several small pouches. A plain, undecorated short sword hangs behind her left shoulder. A magnificently made bow made of dark wood in a plain weather-proof bow case hangs on her back from a thick leather sash slung crossways around her torso, with a quiver of flight arrows strapped on her right leg. All the arrows’ fletchings are stained dark red. A heavily packed, travel-stained leather backpack hangs by its straps from her left hand.

She stands in the doorway for a moment, scanning the room briefly. As she watches, she notices the barmaid briefly stop and converse with the black-clad female. Soon after, the barmaid leaves and the dark-robed lady produces a dagger from within the folds of her garments and begins to twirl it deftly in her fingers.

Alani moves with sublime grace to the table where the black-clad female half-elf sits watching the halflings’ game. The elven female stops just short of the table occupied by the black-clad female human.

"Hello,” the elf says. “My name is Alani. May I sit?" she asks the woman in a soft, elegant voice. Her accent is polished.

Disturbed by the presence of this female, Zell drops her dagger onto the table, and jerks slightly as if frightened. She quickly gains her sense back and motions with a single hand to an empty chair. Guessing from the garb she is adorned, she merely asks, “What is a Ranger such as yourself doing in such a place like this?”

Squinting her eyes as if she had something in them, she puts out a friendly hand before Alani can answer her first question, “Zell is the name.”

“Well met, Zell” replies Alani as she tiredly heaves her pack onto the table. She pauses for a moment to unstrap the bow case from her back and leg quiver, before slipping into the chair next to the black clad half-elf. She casually tosses the bow case and quiver unto the table in front of her.

“I'm not quite a Ranger, although I have some similar skills” she says smiling. “Is this city your home? I'm not from around here at all.” She stops for a moment to get the attention of the barmaid. “A drink?” she offers Zell.

“No, I am fine, thank you.” Zell picks her dagger back up and resumes her twirling with it. “As for home, I do not know where home is.”

Alani can tell that Zell is quite serious, for Zell had mentioned this with a straight face, and with no apparent intention of joking.

The barmaid returns to the table to take Alani’s order. Alani orders a bottle of Berdusk Dark and two glasses. The barmaid nods briefly and moves off toward the bar.

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you join me in a drink, friend Zell” Alani says playfully.

A smile slightly crosses Zell’s face, “If you insist.”

“I'm celebrating a job well done,” Alani continues. “Plus, I've built up a fearsome thirst from being on the wilderness for the several weeks!” She pauses before continuing softly so that no-one else can hear. “No home? A fellow wanderer then. Are you looking to join the caravan too?”

“Yes,” she Zell openly. “Maybe I can learn more about myself.”

Alani leans forward conspiratorially, “Have you talked, or met any one else here tonight?” she says softly. “Maybe we can get a few more comrades together, and sign up to that caravan. Can't say that it's the kind of work that I enjoy. But it may be good to make some friends. I'm tired of always finding myself alone.” She looks around the room. Her beautiful face thoughtful and observant.

“That human over there in the robes, looks like he could use some company. Let's invite him over?”

A look of, 'I don't care' comes across Zell’s face and she agrees, “Sure, why not.”

Alani catches the bearded human's eye, with a graceful wave and gestures for him to come over. The expression on her face is neutral.

The man frowns for a moment and then rises to walk over to where the two women sit. Alani’s face breaks into a warm, charming smile as he makes his way to the table. “May I help you with something?” he asks, as arrives at the table side.

Alani and Zell note that the man is of average height and average weight for a human. His black hair and beard are both neatly trimmed. The robe he wears is of exceptional quality and a money purse is the only adornment on his belt.

Alani responds to the man with the same charming smile. “Only if you wish to spend your evening doing something other that sitting alone” she says with a raised eyebrow, gesturing at the empty chair to her left (across from Zell).

The man shrugs and accepts the offer of a seat. Once he is seated, Alani offers him her hand. “Alani. And you are…?”

“Hakim Sharek,” the man replies, “dealer in fine rugs and tapestries. And what occupation do you profess, my young lady?”

As Alani and the rug merchant become engaged in idle conversation, Zell’s attention begins to waver and she begins once again to spin her dagger. Her wandering gaze returns to the other customers of the tavern.

Glancing over Alani’s shoulder, Zell can see that the barmaid is waiting her turn at the bar. The barkeep is talking with a customer, a female half-elf who appears to have just emerged on the losing side of a fight. The barkeep is smiling and gesturing at the establishment’s customers with a wide sweep of his arm. The woman nods and moves towards the gnome who stands near the west wall. The gnome and the half-elf converse briefly and then the gnome marks something on a rolled scroll using a quill. The woman moves past the gnome and enters the northernmost door on the west wall.

* * * * *

{Slyvia}

A tired battered looking female half-elf slowly enters the taproom. Her eyes narrow in disgust as she spies the various elven females in the room. She is obviously down on her luck, it seems that she has definitely seen better times.

Her worn cloak and ripped gear show traces of a recent fight. A black eye, and bruised body shows that she might not have emerged a winner.

With a half shrug, she flicks her long hair out of her eyes. A silver streak meanders along the side of her blonde hair framing the earring in her ear. She has the bronze tones of a high half-elf and stands at five feet plus. From a distance, she would be almost mistaken as human.

Hastily, she adjusts her dusty clothes and with a quick motion tries to brush off some of the dust of her threadbare cloak. As she saunters toward the bartender she carefully eyes everyone in the room. A well-cared longbow sitting upon an almost empty quiver on her back and a dagger in her boots are the only signs of visible weaponry.

As she reaches the bar she drops her backpack to the floor. She looks around as if to assure herself that she is in the right place. As she drapes her weary body on the bar, she catches the bartender's eye and speaks to him in a sultry contralto, “Hello, I was in the neighborhood looking for a chance of employment, do you know who I should speak to about a position as a caravan guard.”

The barkeep stops wiping the top of the bar with a rag and gestures with a nod toward the gnome standing near the pair of doors. “Well lass, that litul’ ‘un there seems ta be waitin’ fer someone – he’s got one o’ the private party rooms set aside fer the evenin’. Paid with platinum, he did!” Smiling and jerking his head in the direction of the other customers, the barkeep says, “I dinna think the rest of this lot are much interested in work tonite! Can I be gettin’ ya a litul’ somethin’ ‘fore you get ta conversin’?”

Slyvia smiles at the barkeep, she quietly speaks “Nothing for me thank you. I just came into town to find a job”. With a quick laugh, she hops off the barstool.

Picking up her backpack, she winks at the bartender, “My name is Slyvia, and I guess I will be seeing you around. Thanks for the info, I guess I will head over and see what this job is about.”

As she waves to the barkeep, Slyvia heads over to the gnome standing by the pair of doors. She watches the others in the bar, taking note of anyone who is looking at her or the gnome.

Slyvia approaches the gnome, and starts to speak in a friendly voice, 'Hi, I'm Slyvia, , I was in the neighborhood looking for a job. I heard that someone was hiring caravan guards, and I would like a chance to fill a spot”. She touches her longbow and continues, “I have experience in using a longbow, and can follow orders very well, plus I have some training in the art.”

The gnome smiles at Slyvia and responds in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “And a good evening to you, miss. I am happy to report that you have come to the correct location. If you will simply give me your name, you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name miss?” The gnome glances up at Slyvia expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

Before Slyvia can reply, she is forced to step aside to make way for a barmaid carrying a tray that holds a bottle of dark, amber liquid, and two wooden goblets. “My pardons, M’lady,” the girl says, as she steps past the spellarcheress and opens the northernmost of the two doors on the west wall – the same wall the gnome just indicated as the meeting room. The girl steps inside and the door shuts behind her.

Slyvia gives the gnome her name and the gnome repeats it for clarification. Then, the diminutive scribe uses the quill to transcribe it – in Common, Slyvia notices – onto the parchment. When he has finished writing, the gnome says, “Well then, Miss Slyvia, please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

Opening the door, Slyvia enters a room that is roughly 15’ east-west by about 30’ north-south. She has entered at the southernmost portion of the east wall; there are no other apparent exits. A large, oval, oaken table dominates the center of the room. Spaced evenly around the table are eleven oak chairs - there are no chairs at the southern tip of the table. There are four other occupants in the room, and they appear to be engaged in idle conversation.

The fourth occupant, a tan-skinned human male in his mid twenties, sits to the feral youngster’s right. He appears to stand at 71” tall and weigh just over 170 pounds. His steel-gray eyes compliment his dirty blond hair. He is dressed in red robes with a white sash. A backpack is on the floor near his seat, and a staff leans against the wall nearby. He is currently devouring the remains of a meal of roast fowl and vegetables.

* * * * *

{Alani and Zell}

A few moments after the battered half-elven girl enters the side room, Zell notices a new arrival enter the taproom. It is a rather imposing, blond-haired human male dressed in a grey cloak and deep blue tunic. Upon the left breast of the tunic is an embroidered symbol depicting a set of balanced scales set upon the head of an upright warhammer. A hint of a metallic gleam escapes from beneath the garments; a coif of chainlinks and a scabbarded longsword hang from his belt. The man scans the room briefly and then moves to the north side of the bar, putting his back to Zell’s table.

Zell’s view of the man – and Hakim’s enlightening description of the merits of Zakharan textiles – is interrupted as the barmaiden returns to the table and places a bottle of dark amber liquor and two wooden flagons in the center of the table. “That’ll be six gold m’Lady,” she says, pausing expectantly by Alani’s side.

As the barmaid waits for the money from Alani, Zell gets up and politely says, “Excuse me for the moment. I will return, Nice meeting you, umm?”

Hakim stands and bows. “Hakim Sharek, my lady.”

“Yes, right,” Zell responds. “Fare thee well if you should not be here when I return.”

Alani can see that Zell departs and walks over to the gnome holding a piece of parchment and a quill of some sort. Then, Hakim's voice interupts her thoughts and she turns back to him as he pours himself a goblet of Berdusk Dark, saying, “This is truly a spendid drink. It reminds me of a blend of cactus and mesquite that I once had while on a caravan out of Calimport....”

* * * * *

{Alric}

Standing by the door, Alric quickly scans the room. After noticing nothing unusual, he casually makes his way to the north side of the bar. He waits politely (ignoring his rumbling stomach) for the bartender to finish what ever he is doing and then orders a pitcher of water and a plate of goldenstars.

The bartender finishes placing two wooden goblets and a bottle of dark, amber liquid on the small serving tray of the waiting barmaid. The girl thanks him and moves off toward the table with the two females. The bartender then takes Alric’s order, saying “Aye lad, I’ll be getting’ that fer ya.” The bartender reaches under the counter and produces a pitcher of water and a wooden goblet. A minute or so later, when the barmaid returns to the bar, the bartender relays Alric’s request for goldenstars to her. The girl nods and moves off toward the kitchen.

The barmaid returns to the bar carrying a tray of steaming goldenstars. She places them in front of Alric and says, “That’ll be two coppers, m’lord.”

Deciding to finish the food before getting to business, Alric leans against the bar and watches the Elven singer while enjoying the delicious goldenstars.

* * * * *

{Zell}

Zell walks up to the gnome, leans on the wall, and asks while watching the room, “And what is it that you are here for?”

The gnome smiles at Zell and responds in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “And a good evening to you, miss. I am here to take names of applicants for a caravan guard position – perhaps you saw the announcement in the Tor today? But anyway, if you will simply give me your name, you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name miss?” The gnome glances up at Zell expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

Zell looks down at the gnome and then over to Alani, who is probably bored with the rug man. She gives a whistle, hoping to get Alani’s attention and then motions for her. Zell notices Alani say something to Hakim and stand up before she returns her attention back to the gnome.

* * * * *

{Alani}

Alani's concentration on the conversation with Hakim is broken as she hears a faint whistle over the din of the tavern. Glancing in the direction of the sound, she notices that Zell is standing near the gnome and motioning to her.

Alani politely excuses herself, and heads over to Zell and the gnome. As she leaves the table, she hears Hakim say, “I will wait right here, Lady Alani. This Berdusk Dark is quite lovely!”

As Alani makes her way to Zell, she notices that there is a new customer at the bar. It is a rather imposing, blond-haired human male dressed in a grey cloak and deep blue tunic. Upon the left breast of the tunic is an embroidered symbol depicting a set of balanced scales set upon the head of an upright warhammer. A hint of a metallic gleam escapes from beneath the garments; a coif of chainlinks and a scabbarded longsword hang from his belt. A tray of goldenstars, a clay pitcher, and a wooden goblet sit on the bar in front of him, but the man’s attention seems focused on the elven minstrel.

As Alani continues over toward Zell, she notices the gnome write something on the parchment and then look up to speak with Zell who leans against the west wall. A few heartbeats later, Alani arrives at Zell’s side.

* * * * *

{Alani and Zell}

Zell tells the gnome, “I only have one name and that's Zell.”

The gnome repeats the name for clarification and then uses the quill to transcribe it – in Common, Zell notices – onto the parchment. When he has finished writing, the gnome says, “Well then, Miss Zell, please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

Before Zell can respond, Alani appears at her side. Alani arrives at Zell's side just as the gnome finishes gesturing toward the northernmost door and speaking to Zell.

“You called, Zell?” Alani says as she walks up. Then to the gnome she says, “Hello. My name is Alani. I presume that you were the person who put up the sign advertising for caravan guards?”

The gnome smiles up at Alani and responds in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “And a good evening to you, Miss Alani. Yes, I am here to take names of applicants for a caravan guard position – I presume for the same announcement you mention. Now then, you said your name was Alani….” The gnome transcribes the name – once again in Common, Alani notes – onto the parchment. When he has finished, he looks back up at the two ladies. “You may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission.”

Zell looks at Alani and, for the first time, a smile cracks her lips, “Shall we?”

“Sure” replies Alani. She gives the gnome a small wave “I'm sure we'll be seeing you soon” she says as the two ladies open the door and enter the meeting room.

* * * * *

{Dolak}

Upon reaching the Bench, Dolak glances down at the dog that sits patiently outside, and then pulls open the door. Entering quickly, he lets the door close behind him. Looking into the taproom, Dolak identifies the gnome by the door as being the most likely one to talk to, despite the frown.

Turning to the bar, he asks the bartender, “Do ya 'ave a dark ale?”

“Aye lad” the bartender replies, “got a littl’ Elder Root – brewed right here in Berdusk, it is!” The burly man turns and fills a mug from a row of kegs behind the bar. Turning, he sets the mug on the bar in front of Dolak. “That’ll be three coppers,” he says.

After paying for the ale and picking up the mug, Dolak turns in the gnome's direction, making sure the gnome is not already engaged in a conversation, and then walks over to him. He notices that the northernmost door is just closing – the two females are nowhere to be seen.

“Beggin' yer pardon. I've 'eard ye might be 'irin' guards fer a caravan. I'd like to sign on. Me weapon o' choice is the axe, but I'm also pretty good with this hammer. I'm also a smith, with a rig set up to travel with the caravan. I kin fix horseshoes, axles, weapons and armor and the like. What say ye?”

The gnome smiles at Dolak and responds in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “And a good evening to you, sir. I am happy to report that you have come to the correct location. If you will simply give me your name, you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name sir?” The gnome glances up at Dolak expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

“Me name is Dolak. Dolak Forgeson. Umm, kin I take me 'Root in with me?” Dolak asks as he raises his mug.

The gnome repeats the name for clarification and then transcribes it – once again in Common, Dolak notes – onto the parchment. When he has finished, he looks back up at the dwarf. “You may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Someone should be along shortly, I hope. And yes, you may take your beverage with you.”

Dolak thanks the diminutive scribe, moves to the door indicated, and enters the room beyond.

* * * * *

{Kryian}

Kryian is dressed in his normal in port attire. He is dressed in his best white tunic and brown trousers. Worn over his tunic is a functional, yet stylish suit of leather armor. Kryian strolls about the city in his black leather knee-high boots, and sports a midnight-black cloak. Sheathed to his right hip is his weapon of choice, a sabre, and hooked to his belt on his left hip is 20' of rope already tied into a lasso. On his left hip strapped to his belt is a small pouch which contains an adequate amount of traveling funds. Hidden in Kryian's right boot is a stiletto to remind him that danger is always about. Kryian's backpack and small belt pouch (that contains the map and scroll case) have been left behind in his room to be later picked up before traveling on.

As Kryian enter the bar, he moves to the right so that he is out of the doorway to allow passage for other customers. He quickly and nonchalantly scans the room. He takes a second look at the bar and the gnome holding the parchment (gm). Remembering that he is here for business and not pleasure, I strolls over to the gnome. As he approaches, he says “Good Evening Sir. My name is Kryian, and I was wondering if you are the one that I must speak to in regards to becoming a guard for the caravan?”

The gnome looks up at Kryian and replies in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “Yes, my good sir, it is. I have been given the task of greeting our prospects and giving them their instructions. Let me simply have your name and then you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name sir?” The gnome glances up at Kryian expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

Kryian gives the gnome his name and the gnome repeats it for clarification. Then, the diminutive scribe uses the quill to make markings on the parchment – which the swashbuckler cannot decipher – and says, “Well then, Mr.Kryian, please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

* * * * *

{Alric}

Looking down at his empty tray Alric, wishes that they had given him more of this delicious food, but knowing that he has business to conduct, Alric pushes that thought away. He quickly gulps down the remaining water and neatly wipes his mouth; with this done it was truly time to get down to business.

With a wave of his hand Alric calls over the barkeep and says, “Hail again good sir, I am here to inquire about the merchant caravan that is in need of guards, would you have any information on this?”

The barkeep stops wiping the top of the bar with a rag and gestures with a nod toward the gnome standing near the pair of doors. “That litul’ ‘un there seems ta be waitin’ fer someone – he’s got one o’ the private party rooms set aside fer the evenin’. Paid with platinum, he did!” Smiling and jerking his head in the direction of the other customers, the barkeep says, “I dinna think the rest of this lot are much interested in work tonite!” Can I be gettin’ ya a litul’ somethin’ else ‘fore you get ta conversin’?”

Alric smiles warmly at the barkeep and says, “No thank you good sir, I am quite full thanks to your delicious goldenstars, it's about time I get down to business.”

With a polite nod, Alric turns around and approaches the gnome. As he does, he notices a handsome man say something to the gnome and then move to the northernmost door on the west wall. The man is dressed in a well-tailored white tunic and brown trousers. Worn over his tunic is a functional, yet stylish suit of leather armor. His feet are clad in black leather knee-high boots, and he also sports a midnight-black cloak. Sheathed to his right hip is a sabre, and hooked to his belt on his left hip is 20' of rope already tied into a lasso.

With the same warm smile to gave the barkeep Alric says, “Hail good gnome -- I was told to speak to you about the job of Caravan guard, I do hope this is the case.” As Alric speaks, he notices the man pauses with his hand on the doorknob to glance back at Alric.

* * * * *

{Kryian and Alric}

As Kryian is about to open the door, he hears a commanding voice say, “Hail good gnome -- I was told to speak to you about the job of Caravan guard, I do hope this is the case.”

Kryian pauses with his hand on the doorknob to glance back at the source of the voice. He sees a rather imposing, blond-haired human male dressed in a grey cloak and deep blue tunic. Upon the left breast of the tunic is an embroidered symbol depicting a set of balanced scales set upon the head of an upright warhammer. A hint of a metallic gleam escapes from beneath the garments; a coif of chainlinks and a scabbarded longsword hang from his belt. It would appear the man has directed his question at the gnome.

The gnome pauses in his reply to the chainmailed warrior as he notices that the man's attention has been temporarily diverted. Kryian simply tips his head and smiles at the chainmailed warrior. He then proceeds through the door.

* * * * *

{Alric}

The gnome looks up at Alric, clears his throat, and says in surprisingly clear and precise Common, “Yes, my good sir, it is. I have been given the task of greeting our prospects and giving them their instructions. Let me simply have your name and then you may go in through that door,” he says, pointing at the northernmost of the two doors, “and have a seat at the table. Once we have assembled a substantial crew, my master will be along to explain the finer nuances of the commission. Now then, your name sir?” The gnome glances up at Alric expectantly, holding his quill over the parchment prepared to write.

Alric gives the gnome his name and the gnome repeats it for clarification. Then, the diminutive scribe uses the quill to transcribes it – once again in Common, Alric notes – onto the parchment. When he has finished, he says, “Well then, Mr. Alric, please enter through the door and have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly, I hope.”

The content of The Sunset Vale Saga are the property and copyright of Brian Flood, and are not to be published or redistributed without permission.

Next Chapter

Return to The Sunset Vale Saga main page

Return to Campaign Logs