Tavern Rumors of Peltarch
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Word spreads around the taverns of Fire Giants meeting with a Hill Giant Chief and his guards 4 leagues outside of Peltarch. The excited woman adventurer chattered about how exciting it had been for her and her companion to witness such and event. "Fire giants so close to the city, wow!"
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"...I kid you not. He walked right into town, and he only had one hand. One. Hand!.."
"...they say he tore it off at the wrist. The mad bastard ripped off his own hand..."
"...I heard it was part of some blood-cult ritual, he sacrificed his flesh - for power..."
"...they built him a new one, its made of soulforged ironwood, they say it feels like the real thing..."
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"...indeed, married an Orc woman from those deep caves..."
"...I heard there wasn't even hardly a ceremony..."
"...did you hear? Isolde provided the cake! How magical~!.."
"...widowed, again. The man has no luck..."
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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.*
