Tavern Rumors of Peltarch
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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.
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Rumour has it, that Cray is looking for those that have the magical ability to detect truth. The more the better he says. He also suggests that people should get their popcorn ready.
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Rumors spread from workers at city hall of Prince Kasimir. Supposedly the sleepless prince has tumbled down the stairs, breaking his leg. Though healing was quickly applied by royal staff, the frazzled Prince seemed unusually emotive and panicked. It is rumored he will be confined to his quarters for a few days to recover. People wonder what could have the usually stoic prince so frazzled.
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After the intense, fun and dangerous demon-fortress crawl through the weekend, I wasn't expecting such a casual, light-hearted, and thoroughly fun Tuesday evening, but I certainly welcomed it - so kudos to all who were part of it, players and DM alike, for setting such an endearing tone to it all. Rare steaks and shiny brooches included!
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Rumours spread of Cray offering a 10,000gp reward for information regarding the whereabouts of Rosie. And a 20,000gp reward for her safe return, as odd as this sounds, to wherever she wants to be returned to.
To anyone that thinks this is a lot of gold, or a bit silly, etc. Cray snaps back. “Then you clearly don’t know the true meaning of the term drinking buddies”.
A man the corner pipes up, “well shit I got a lot of drinking buddies” and then he cheers his drink with a large group of people sitting around a table. They laugh and carry on a moment. Cray replies simply, “ya well, I don’t”.
((Edit: reward claimed))
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A relatively talented bard graces the Lucky Ferret for an evenings performance. He ends his set with a catchy little ditty, “Cormac fought the law and the law won”.
((Cray bins 500gp))
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Quiet rumors spread of a brawl outside of the Mermaid early into the night. A brutal brawl started by Cormac Randolph. It ended with Cormac over a man, strangling the life out of him, until he was downed by the Magistrate and dragged away in cuffs. No one knows for sure what has happened, but everyone has a theory.
