Tavern Rumors of Peltarch
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@unholycalls said in Tavern Rumors of Peltarch:
has risen as the younger generation do not want to sit idle while some looming boogeyman of the past threatens their future, while some old veterans who have long since feared their returns have once again picked up
Dwarven "adventurer" Jonty Glyndwyr seeks out a recruiter to enlist, making loud announcements about the fact.
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More rumors, more news. At the dawn of the day after the announcement, the blue clad Legion sent an envoy to Peltarch. Though not without their controversies, with the looming threat of N'Jast it appears that the two forces are attempting to communicate, with many a Defender barfly speaking of the Legion attempting to join the Defensive Pact of the three towns. By dusk, a second envoy arrived, a woman clad in a mask, flanked by two rows of muscular barbarians wearing the totems of the Lodges of Rashemen. They've made quite a stir as they walked the streets, heading directly to the throne room, where they have yet to be seen again.
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War. War with N'Jast once again. With the king having returned from the sit down, rumors swell of N'Jast's declaration. War. War to save Peltarch... from itself? Recruitment has risen as the younger generation do not want to sit idle while some looming boogeyman of the past threatens their future, while some old veterans who have long since feared their returns have once again picked up their swords. The King rarely leaves his throne room, even to sleep unless forced to, and has met several times already with delegates from Norwick and Oscura.
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Passerbys tried to check on the lady who was clearly unconscious on the roadside between Peltarch and Norwick, but her horse stubbornly kept them away. Biting, threatening to kick, throwing it's weight around, making scary horse noises.. Her companion stood over her through storm and night, till in the morning she woke up, protected by her steed's loyalty..
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A box packed full of purple apples was donated to the orphanage in the Lighthouse Temple by an anonymous person.
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Rumors spread from the mouths of envoys, preparing themselves for trips long, short and medium, about Peltarch's political movements. In response to the growing threat of N'Jast, three envoys have been dispatched. The furthest, it is said, is heading to Rashemen, over some yet publicly unknown claims that involve N'Jast. The second two have set out with offers of an official power pact, or alliance or whatever they'd prefer to call it, with the neighboring towns of Oscura and Norwick. Allying together in defense of N'Jast, who have proven themselves an enemy. Furthermore, envoys sent to N'Jast to demand a meeting have yet to return... which... you know, is rarely good.
Finally it is said that the King is seeking out the descendants of Jiyyd, and has attempted to hire the Legion, for a Peltarch sponsorship to attempt to finally rebuild the town in hopes of regaining the land and having another strong ally in any future wars with N'Jast. It is said that it will be a huge undertaking, but one quite a few drunk patrons are eager to see work out.
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In minor gossip, there's talk of a peculiar traffic jam right around the corner from the Mermaid, in which a gnome with an ore cart and lance caused all manner of mishaps, from ripping the shirt right off a young man to knocking an investigating guardsman out completely, before the ore cart itself... sputtered steam and took to the skies! Surely the last part's just fantasy! Though, some patrons of various drinking establishments swear they saw the cart, with two people clinging desperately to it, whirr and careen across the rooftops to land smack in the fountain outside the crafting hall.
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Apparently someone told Cray to take up a hobby to get him through his recent depression, as well as the boredom and other woes of finding himself retired from his previous life...
He's been trying his hand a painting. Often sitting at a table by himself inside or outside the mermaid, working away studiously.
If anyone happens to peek at what he is working on:
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/52771555538_a1696fecbf_k.jpg
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Oh dear, it seems someone has spiked the cocoa-cauldron again. Whiskey to Cocoa ratio leans heavily on the booze.
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The community pot of hot cocoa has been topped off by an unnamed benevolence; mercifully, (or to the disappointment of some) it seems the whiskey has been mostly dilluted out from this new batch.
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Elliott is seen talking to himself, tapping his beloved notebook with a frown.
"In the swamps! The kobolds said they've met it!!! A green dragon, skulking, and trying to build a following. Supposedly, they've coerced a quite a few kobolds into their service- Whether they just want 'scale pampering' or want more from nearby Peltarch... We can't know for sure yet. But it's there. Lurking deep, deeeep in those swamps, somewhere... Geh, what could it have to gain?
On the other hand, flashes of silver, like that of a new blade, soaring over the orc woods....
Agh, one of them has to know something!! The Cult of the Dragon can't get away with it!!"
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Merriment abound, whether desired or not -- someone's spiked the communial pot of hot cocoa.
Oh dear.
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A cold spell falls abruptly over Peltarch, bringing not only snow but icy winds and a dark, oppressive gloom that lingers over the city for the span of a day. Adventurers can be overheard crying foul and setting off towards the southwest - but then, don't adventurers always believe the weather is more than just weather? Regardless, the gloomy skies soon clear up and the snow stops, leaving a pretty glitter of frost still dusted over the city in the days to come.
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Late at night, as anyone rational had tucked into bed, and even the rowdiest of drunks were finding their way home, rumor spread of a song that pierced the natural sounds of the docks. A beautiful song, not frantic or loud enough to stir one from their slumber, but that wound its way across the docks none the less. A violinist, whom off duty guards speaking of the incident afterwards proclaim sat on the roof. Who was gone as quickly as he came. The haunting song stays in the minds of those who spread the rumor. Making them feel hope, nostalgia, and a strange sense of loneliness.
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Rumor has it that King Thalaman was seen being walked back to city hall by a couple of adventurers. Apparently, he had been invited to a brunch party at the Fish Fort after a run in with a drunk Kobold! He talks of the beautiful Kobold Princess, and how it’s a shame that Cormac is the one to be wed to her for diplomacy’s sake, but alas, it could never be…
Wait, is he still drunk?
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[Cray’s blank expression falls upon the bartender, and Cray matter a factly says.]
There goes the shittiest friend oi ever ‘ad... And oi was born and raised in the Underdark.
[Short pause and a smirk, despite his empty shell or soulless demeanour at current]
The shit show must go on... apparently.
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*In the doorway, before he steps across the threshold, the grim-skald takes a pause -- he wants to be better, but the notorious opportunist simply can't let it go. There's a moral to every story after all, a moral that he'd hope would still be fresh in the minds of the plain folk who'd heard his story just now. Maybe the singular 'little piggy' squeal Cormac let out to punctuate his feelings on the matter would die there. Perhaps, just maybe, as the most petty part of him secretly hoped, the entire tavern might be inspired to join in.
He did not stick around to find out. He had business. All of the things that had lead to this point aside, he had business - and to it he must adhere.*
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[After a few drinks later Cray, probably paying more attention to the story than he first let on. Comes and sits down beside Cormac. Cray sets his drink down in front of him. And just stares blanky forward. Seeming rather intoxicated and a bit of a sad drunk this evening.]
Look enough is enough, this 'as to get buried sooner than later...
Do you believe yet, that when ye made those allegations against us, at that toime they were absolutely false? Do you realoize yet that... that shit koinda ruined me loife. It instantly severed every friendship oi 'ad. Fer absolutely no reason? The the thanks oi got from yer friendship was a fate worse than death. {Pauses a moment] Ya then one thing led to another...
[Pauses another moment with a slight grimace at the memory recall]
But oi even let ya kick the absolute living shoite out of me for that. Even petitioned to 'ave the charges dropped. Is that not enough for, you considering YOU started it.
Did you know... To this very day. The only person in the all the land that will still associate with me is... yer woife?.... You made that 'appen all boy yerself.... Loike thats koinda farked up. You should 'ave come talk to me and looked me in the eye, and see it was nae true. Instead of assassinating moy character.
[Sits there still staring blankly forward, blinking some, takes a sip of his drink. He sits there completely devoid of emotion, awaiting a response.]
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[Cray begins listening to the story, but then is quickly distracted by the barmaids attire.]
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One of those rare days where Cormac visits the Mermaid, his iron mask and heavy helmet set aside while he takes his meal and drink. The skald doesn't go out of his way to draw a crowd - but he's been in the news a lot lately, whispers and glances abound. He'd wiped his mouth with a worn out bar rag before offering;
"...I heard a story once about three little pigs. There was one that built his house on the sand or somesuch, another that made his out of stone. But I'll tell you about the one that built his shelter from sticks".
He turns the earthenware mug between his hands on the surface of the bar and waits for any stragglers to finish their whispers, or leave should they wish it. When he's sure its time, he goes on...
"Well this little pig had heard of the big bad wolf and what he'd done to his friend on the sand. Little pig, anyway, seemed he liked to squeal and bluster and make noise about his situation. Well anyway that little pig he got it in his head that he'd build a castle made from sticks. The little pig, he made his way to the deep dark forest where slept the wolf, and he slept there still. The little pig took a stick here, a stick there - still the wolf slept. The little pig started taking sticks by the armful and squealing all the way back to his plot to build his castle. He squealed and bragged and peacocked around at his great idea, told all his friends that it was fine - and all his friends, the sheep and the dogs, and the rats with whom little pigs consort -- they looked at him like he was mental, that silly pig... heh. The asked him, 'little pig, from where did you get these things?', and the little pig squealed his squeals at them, he said 'I got them from the wolf. He's sleeping, and he won't do anything if we take his sticks', non of his friends thought that was very wise...".
He holds his cup out and its quickly refilled by the dutiful bar staff. He wets his throat and resumes the silly childrens' story.
"...comes to a point where the wolf stirs. Someone's come cut the whole damned forest down from around him while he was docile. But he can hear the squealing now, the big bad wolf could see clearly . Easy to do once everythings been cut clear from around him yrrh..? The wolf goes to the little pig's shelter, this castle made from the bones of whatever the wolf had called home. The little pig squeals down at the wolf, safe in his castle, laughing. Tells the wolf 'you can't get me, look at how safe I am in here'. Well the thing about wolves and pigs is one of those beasts is far too smart, too smart for the shit he chooses to live in one could say. The other? Well the other doesn't think around corners so they say. And the wolf huffs, and he puffs, and he wraps his hands around the castle and he shakes all of the sticks free - every last one comes tumbling down. The little pig, he's terrified - closes his eyes and waits there to be eaten."
Cormac finishes his drink and stands, he puts on his helmet and his iron mask, and likewise finishes the story.
"...see the thing is. The little piggy squealed and his knees knocked all the while. He blustered his apologies and reasons from one side of his smart little piggy snout, and the damndest thing was that he still managed to throw out veiled threats and smart little words at the same time from the other side of his little piggy snout. But the big bad wolf wasn't listening. See, when the little pig opened his little piggy eyes he could see that the big bad wolf had just come back for his favorite stick. That's all. The little pig might've kept on squealing but -- that mean old wolf? His tail was wagging, he was already gone".
He leaves anyone who'd cared to listen to their thoughts, to what business is anyone's guess.
